


Journey Through Shadows

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2005-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Combination of original story, movie and an original character.  Some violence.  Co-author Kryal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS**

Chapter One

It was just as Frodo began to wonder if Bilbo would ever tire of hearing of the doings of the grandchildren of his thrice-removed cousins when the old hobbit suddenly looked up.

"Ah, there you are at last, Dúnedan!" he cried.

"Strider!" said Frodo, suddenly aware of a man clad in dark green cloth standing relaxed behind them as though he had been present for many minutes. "You seem to have a lot of names."

"Well, _Strider_ is one that I haven't heard before, anyway," said Bilbo. "What do you call him that for?"

"They call me that in Bree," said Strider laughing, "and that is how I was introduced to him."

"And why do you call him Dúnadan?" asked Frodo.

" _The_ Dúnadan," said Bilbo. "He is often called that here. But I thought you knew enough Elvish at least to know _dún-adan_ : Man of the West, Númenorean. But this is not the time for lessons!" He turned to Strider. "Where have you been, my friend? Why weren't you at the feast? The Lady Arwen was there."

Strider looked down at Bilbo gravely. "I know," he said. "But often I must put mirth aside. Elladan and Elrohir have returned out of the Wild unlooked-for, as did Fuingwae, and they had tidings that I wished to hear at once." With these words and a nod of his head he indicated a lady dressed in a deep elven-green gown standing patiently behind him.

"Well, my dear fellow," said Bilbo, "now you've heard the news, can't you spare me a moment? I want your help in something urgent. Elrond says this song of mine is to be finished before the end of the evening, and I am stuck. Let's go off into a corner and polish it up!"

Strider smiled. "Come then!" he said. "Let me hear it."

The two removed themselves to a corner and huddled together, leaving Frodo quite on his own, and to be honest feeling somewhat alone and forlorn, among all these high and mighty folk. Oh, he was not alone, for the folk of Rivendell were all about him, yet those closest him were all silent and paid heed only to the musicians' harps and voices.

The woman whom Aragorn had spoken of as Fuingwae stirred behind him, and Frodo realized that he had been quite discourteous. "Oh," he said, "please forgive me. I find that I am rather tired here, somehow. This place seems made for – well, for resting, and for thinking, and yet not. I think I should be quite comfortable here, if there was but a proper place to sit!"

She smiled. "Indeed, the Hall of Fire is a place of rest rather than a place of concerns, should one find rest in sleep or in music, in company or in one's own thoughts. However, Master Hobbit, there are places for you to sit, had you but asked sooner! Master Bilbo's chair is still claimed, I fear, but there are other places more suitable for those who have not the height for the chairs." So saying, she laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder and guided him over to a nearby corner, in the warmth of the fire yet out of the way of the few who were coming and going in the Hall. There Frodo found a pile of sitting-cushions. Taking one, he sank down to sit on it with a sigh.

"Ah! Many thanks, Lady," he said in the Elvish tongue. Returning to the common tongue, he said, "This is much cozier. I'm not sure, but I think I shall like sitting here for a bit. I have been at a feast, and as any hobbit can tell you, feasting is hard work! I believe I shall sit and watch now. It's a funny thing, but from here – well, in this firelight, you Big People don't look quite so big, if you understand me. I don't mean to be discourteous, but for one of my kind, you Big People can be a trifle intimidating when taken all at once and of a sudden."

As he spoke Frodo chanced to look up, and to his surprise the green eyes of the Lady were deep and thoughtful, and she seemed to study him long and carefully before speaking.

"I think," she said at last, "that you do yourself and your kind too little credit. I am not familiar with your kind, beyond Master Bilbo, but although Lord Aragorn has spoken little of your purpose here, I do understand that you came through great hardship, and through enemies that might daunt even Gandalf the Grey. Your folk, and you especially, Master Hobbit, are made of sterner mettle than your carefree, jolly ways would lead those who call themselves Wise to suspect. Indeed, perhaps it is _because_ of your good natures that you are so resilient. In these times of gathering darkness, the strength of simple joy in life is not to be underestimated."

She fell silent then, and Frodo, who sat quiet watching her, noted a shadow of concern on her face ill-suited to her elegant looks and garb. Then she seemed to shake free of the deep mood that had come on her, and she met his eyes with a smile.

"Ah, forgive me! For you are not the only one who has undertaken a long journey, although I do not doubt now that yours was by far the most perilous. I am weary and must seek some rest of my own this eve, and perhaps my questions shall be answered in tomorrows Council, for both Lord Elrond and Lord Aragorn have bade me to sit on the Council."

"That is the second time now you have referred to him as _Lord_ Aragorn," Frodo said. "Why? I understand now that he is Númenorean, but why is it that you speak of him as though he is some great leader? I thought he was just a – well, just a Ranger, if you understand my meaning, now that I know what 'just a Ranger' means to some degree, that is."

Fuingwae smiled at him, then laughed suddenly, like a midsummer-night's breeze in the trees. "Well, it is good to know that I am not the only one who is going to the Council with questions weighing on my mind!" The merriment passed, and her eyes were once again thoughtful and almost shadowed as she looked on Frodo. "Still, if he has not told you himself, then it is not my place to speak of it.

"And now, though not for lack of interesting conversation from you, Master Hobbit, I _must_ go. Sit and rest, and perhaps we shall see each other again." With those words, and a nod of her raven-haired head, the woman turned and departed into the half-lit depths of the room. Watching her go, Frodo noticed that she seemed somehow separate from the other elves – more _there_ , somehow, or at the very least less other-worldly than her kindred. She reminded him of Strider, somehow, and he wondered at that. Then she was gone from his sight, and again Frodo was left to himself. He began to listen.

At first the beauty of the melodies and the interwoven words in the Elven-tongue, even though he understood them little, held him in a spell, as soon as he began to attend to them. Almost it seemed that the words took shape, and visions of far lands and bright things that he had never yet imagined opened out before him, and the firelit hall became a golden mist above seas of foam that sighed upon the margins of the world. Then the enchantment became more and more dreamlike, until he felt that an endless river of swelling gold and silver was flowing over him, too multitudinous for its pattern to be comprehended; it became part of the throbbing air about him, and it drenched and drowned him. Swiftly he sank under its shining weight into a deep realm of sleep.

There he wandered long in a dream of music that turned into running water, as images rose and fell around him, slowly taking shape and becoming clearer. He fancied that he saw a ship, or was it a silver swan, flying banners of light, carrying a gallantly clad warrior arrayed in gear of such splendor a dragon would weep to see it, and on his chest a gleaming light that was a flawless emerald. Then a chill as the images formed into shadows and emptiness and howling winds. Then the images turned bright again as a light appeared, and there were brilliant gems upon his brow filled with the lights of the heavens, three of them. Then all about the man was night, but the light shone from him and he was no longer cowed by the empty darkness.

Then a mountain appeared, and foam like pearls and silver meshed over glimmering light of gold and silver in their purest shades. Then came green, living things that stirred and sang in welcome, and tall and fair people greeted the traveler of the silver swan-ship. Then he was clad in white, and lead by seven lights he wandered in empty, forgotten places, and was meet by beings to great and fell for even dreams to encompass. Then he was again at sea, in a ship of glimmering white metal like stars and glistening crystal-glass, without sail or oar, and he had wings more beautiful than any bird's. And yet he was lonely, and flew solitary through a sea of stars, until he came to a grey place where the Sun had yet to rise. He passed over that land, one that had yet to learn of its promise of beauty, and Frodo became aware of sadness again, and the grief as the man realized that he was bound never to join them again.

Slowly had the images grown clearer and more specific, and slowly Frodo came to realize that he was not seeing images at all, but hearing words speaking chanted verses in a familiar voice.

_And over Middle-earth he passed_

_and heard at last the weeping sore_

_of women and of elven-maids_

_in Elder Days, in years of yore._

_But on him mighty doom was laid,_

_Till Moon should fade, an orbéd star_

_to pass, and tarry never more_

_on Hither Shores where mortals are;_

_or ever still a herald on_

_an errand that should never rest_

_to bear his shining lamp afar,_

_the Flammifer of Westernesse._

The chanting ceased. Frodo opened his eyes and saw that Bilbo was seated on his stool in a circle of listeners, who were smiling and applauding.

"Now we had better have it again," said an Elf.

Bilbo got up and bowed. "I am flattered, Lindir," he said. "But it would be too tiring to repeat it all."

"Not too tiring for you," the Elves answered, laughing. "You know you are never tired of reciting your own verses. But really we cannot answer your question at one hearing!"

"What?" cried Bilbo. "You can't tell which parts were mine, and which were the Dúnadan's?"

"It is not easy for us to tell the difference between two mortals," said the Elf.

"Nonsense, Lindir," snorted Bilbo. "If you can't distinguish between a Man and a Hobbit, your judgement is poorer than I imagined. They're as different as peas and apples."

"Maybe. To sheep other sheep no doubt appear different," laughed Lindir. "Or to shepherds. But Mortals have not been our study. We have other business."

"I won't argue with you," said Bilbo. "I am sleepy after so much music and singing. I'll leave you to guess, if you want to."

He got up and came towards Frodo. "Well, that's over," he said in a low voice as the music began again in a different song. "It went off better than I expected. I don't often get asked for a second hearing. What did you think of it?"

"I am not going to try and guess," said Frodo, smiling.

"You needn't," said Bilbo. "As a matter of fact it was all mine. Except that Aragorn insisted on my putting in a green stone. He seemed to think it was important. I don't know why. Otherwise he obviously though the whole thing rather above my head, and he said that if I had the cheek to make verses about Eärendil in the house of Elrond, it was my affair. I suppose he was right."

"I don't know," said Frodo. "It seemed to me to fit somehow, though I can't explain. I was half-asleep when you began, and it seemed to follow on from something that I was dreaming about. I didn't understand that it was really you speaking until near the end."

"It _is_ difficult to keep awake here, until you get used to it," said Bilbo. "Not that hobbits would ever acquire quite the elvish appetite for music and poetry and tales. They seem to like them as much as food, or more. They will be going on for a long time yet. What do you say to slipping off for some more quiet talk?"

"Can we?" said Frodo.

"Of course. This is merrymaking, not business. Come and go as you like, as long as you don't make a noise."

They got up and withdrew quietly into the shadows, and made for the doors. Sam they left behind, fast asleep still with a smile on his face. In spite of his delight in Bilbo's company Frodo felt a tug of regret as they passed out of the Hall of Fire. Even as they stepped over the threshold a single clear voice rose in song.

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-díriel_

_o galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

Frodo halted for a moment, looking back. Elrond was in his chair and the fire was on his face like summer-light upon the trees. Near him sat the Lady Arwen, still clad in her gown of evening-rain grey. To his surprise Frodo saw that Aragorn stood beside her; his dark cloak was thrown back, and he seemed to be clad in elven-mail, and a star shone on his breast. They spoke together, and then suddenly it seemed to Frodo that Arwen turned towards him, and the light of her eyes fell on him from afar and pierced his heart.

He stood still enchanted, while the sweet syllables of the elvish song fell like clear jewels of blended word and melody. "It is a song to Elbereth," said Bilbo. "They will sing that, and other songs of the Blessed Realm, many times tonight. Come on!"

Still in the thrall of his wonder, Frodo allowed Bilbo to lead him out of the chamber, past raven-haired Fuingwae, who was speaking softly with a blonde-haired elf garbed in a cloak of autumn-brown of a kind that Frodo had not seen before in Rivendell. She turned her attention aside for a moment to offer him a smile before the two Hobbits passed through the door and out of the chamber.

Bilbo led Frodo back to his own little room. It opened on to the gardens and looked south across the ravine of the Bruinen. There they sat for some while, looking through the window at the bright stars above the steep-climbing woods, and talking softly. They spoke no more of the small news of the Shire nor of the dark perils that encompassed them, but of the fair things they had seen, of the Elves, of the stars, of trees, and the gentle fall of the bright year in the woods.

At last Sam came, with the news that there was to be a Council early the next day, "and Mister Frodo only got up today for the first time, begging your pardon."

"Quite right, Sam," laughed Bilbo. "You can trot off and tell Gandalf that he has gone to bed. Good night, Frodo! Bless me, but it has been good to see you again! There are no folk like hobbits, after all, for a real good talk. Good night! I'll take a walk, I think, and look at the stars in the garden. Sleep well!"

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Two

It was yet early morning the next day when a single, clear bell rang out.

"That is the warning bell for the Council of Elrond," cried Gandalf, springing up from his seat. "Come, Frodo. You are wanted there."

Gandalf led him to the porch where Frodo had found his friends the evening before. The light of the clear autumn morning was now glowing in the valley. The noise of bubbling waters came up from the foaming river-bed. Birds were singing, and a wholesome peace lay on the land. To Frodo his dangerous flight, and the rumors of the darkness growing in the world outside, already seemed only the memories of a troubled dream, fallen away as the golden leaves fell away from their parent-trees in the gentle wind. But the faces that were turned to meet them as they entered were grave. Glorfindel was there, and Glóin and several of his companions, and at Glóin's side there was another, younger dwarf: his son, Gimli. There were other elves as well, although Frodo did not recognize any but the fair-haired stranger from the Hall of Fire among them. 

Men there were as well; messengers from Dale if Frodo remembered correctly – but one man in particular caught his notice. He was young and proud, and his clothing was fine and dyed with strong though muted color. However, though his garments were rich, they were also travel-stained, and unlike any but the dwarves, this man wore armor openly. Proud and stern was his bearing, yet he gazed about with wonder, and no less wonder was in his face when his eyes came to rest upon Frodo.

The gathering formed an incomplete circle, facing Elrond in his tall chair before the great tree, and surrounding a bare stone plinth. Gandalf and Frodo took seats upon one arm of the circle, although once again Frodo found his legs to be too short to reach the ground from his seat. Across the circle sat Strider, garbed now in rich silver-black and clean, and Frodo marveled at the veiled nobility in his face, no longer hidden by firelight and shadows or the dirt of the road. No longer did the hobbit think to question Gandalf's words regarding Aragorn's origins. Next to Aragorn as well sat Fuingwae, still in the fine gown of darkest green and edged with broad trim of dulled gold. A small pendent of woven silver was about her throat, and her ebon hair framed her face.

Then Elrond rose. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," he said, and in his voice was the weariness and the wisdom and the strength of his many centuries of life, "you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor.

"Here in this Council are pieces, fragments of a greater puzzle, and for this reason were you called here. Called, I say, though I have not summoned you to me. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem, to now find counsel for the peril of the world. Each of you bears some part, a building block that may become a keystone, and each of you comes seeking more pieces with which to understand the one which you yourself bears. Thus I have asked for you to be present – for here, your questions are to be answered."

And so the Council began.

Not all that was spoken and debated in the Council need now be told. Much was said of events in the world outside. Of some things, Frodo had already heard many rumors, but some were new to him. The strange blonde elf, Legolas of the realm of Mirkwood, spoke of the escape of Gollum and the return of shadows to the tower of Dol Guldur, from which the White Council had but sixty years past purged the Necromancer. Fuingwae spoke briefly of the multiplying numbers of trolls and orcs in the northern forests, and beneath her measured words was a fierce will as she told of the unchecked actions of the foul folk. Glóin spoke of the coming of emissaries from Mordor to parley with the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, seeking news of Hobbits, one Hobbit in particular – and seeking news of " 'a little ring, the least of rings, that he stole,' naming it to be but a trifle Sauron fancies…" He spoke of the delaying tactics of Lord Dain, and the fear of the Dwarves that their delay would not last much longer.

"You have done well to come," said Elrond. "You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone.

"The Ring! What of the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? This is what we must decide. Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day."

And so it was that the tale of the One Ring was told, of the betrayal of Sauron, the hiding of the Three, the loss of the Seven and the fall of the Nine. Grim and solemn, Elrond spoke of the death of Elendil, the last desperate blow of Isildur – and the victory of the Ring in the very chambers of Mount Doom over the will of Isildur. Then it was Gandalf's turn, and he spoke of his conjectures regarding the fate of the Ring following the death of Isildur, although he named not Gollum, nor Bilbo or Frodo, saying only that it had come into the hands of one who knew nothing of its nature, and had been brought through peril to a temporary haven by that one's heir. Then he spoke of the treachery of Saruman and the fall of Orthanc to the insidious whispers of power from Mordor. When the old wizard reached the end of his words and returned to his seat, there was a long silence.

"And so the tales draw to an end, and the counsels begin," Elrond said. "Mordor is gathering strength, and the Eye is fixed on the world beyond. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

He turned, and his eyes were dark with many thoughts as he gestured towards the bare plinth.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Frodo found moving difficult, as though his limbs had chosen to become lead. Or perhaps it was that the weight of the sudden, near-tangible silence became perceptible to him. Whatever the cause, he found movement coming to him slowly and with difficulty.

The ring was in his hand, though he could not remember when he had taken it from his pocket. Somehow, through the sudden heaviness of his limbs, he slid from his chair and walked into the center of the circle. He felt very alone, and very small indeed in the eyes of all these great and powerful folk, and he found himself wishing in every fiber of his being to be anywhere but there, to be back in his cozy hobbit-hole with no more concerns than avoiding the next visit of the Sacksville-Bagginses, to be safe in his room, even to be invisible. And it was only the knowledge of that hateful Eye and the memory of the terrible wraiths that stiffened his will and stopped him from impulsively thrusting his finger into the ring and fleeing the weight of those eyes.

Still feeling as though he were moving through water, Frodo slowly reached out, Ring in hand, and set it on the pedestal. And as difficult as it had been to reach that point, he found it many times more difficult to simply relax his hand, to let it go. It was as though the Ring wished to remain hidden – and only that thought gave Frodo the strength to release it – that thought, and the knowledge that the Ring was no longer his concern.

It was as though a cord binding him had suddenly been severed. The Ring lay alone in the center of the pedestal, and Frodo turned and walked back to his chair, looking uncomfortably at Gandalf. As though sensing his unease, the wizard nodded and smiled, and Frodo felt his limbs relax in relief. Suddenly he felt much better, and turned his attention back to the Council with a lighter spirit and a sigh.

There was a great stillness in the Council. All eyes were fixed on the little circle of gold in the center of the stone plinth. At first, all were silent. Then, slowly, whispers began. "Isildur's Bane," someone said. "The Doom of Men," said another.

Then a new voice spoke, in a tone that suggested that these were merely thoughts that had somehow reached his lips. "It is a _gift_!"

The man Frodo had noticed before, Boromir, rose, and there was a light of eagerness in his eyes. "A _gift_ to the foes of Mordor!" he said, in a louder voice. "Why not _use_ this Ring?" He studied the faces of those about him, and his face became stern as though in defiance of the disbelief he saw in them.

"Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay." He swept the gathering with eyes that were proud and high. "By the blood of _our people_ , are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy! Let us use it _against_ him!"

Most of the Council simply looked at him, this bold, proud young Man in their midst, with compassionate disdain, as though he were a child who did not understand the depths of the waters in which he swam. Others looked to each other, as though contemplating the thoughts Boromir raised. But Gandalf settled back in his chair, and Frodo saw dismay in the wizard's lined face, and in the way Gandalf's hands tightened about his staff. Looking across the Council, he saw Fuingwae's dark eyes flicker upwards as her face reflected pure disbelief and even contempt. And Aragorn…

Aragorn leaned forwards, grey eyes as relentless as steel. "You _cannot_ wield it," he cried. Boromir turned as he continued, " _None_ of us can." Silence fell about the Council yet again, as Boromir locked his eyes on Aragorn's. Speaking earnestly, Aragorn explained, "The One Ring answers to Sauron _alone_. It has no other Master!"

Boromir's eyes were cool and haughty as he looked down on this grim, weather-beaten and rugged man, and it was his turn to show disdain. "And what," he asked, "would a Ranger know of this matter?"

A stir went through the Council at these words. Then the wood-elf, Legolas, rose to his feet and moved forward. "You know little of the Rangers if you speak of them so," he said softly, "and even less of this man. This is no 'mere Ranger.' He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." 

And as Boromir turned to meet the elven-prince's eyes, Legolas continued in a quiet but stern tone, "You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir's eyes widened in surprise, and he turned to regard the Man in silver-black again, yet his disbelief had not lessened, and doubt was in his eyes. "Aragorn?" he repeated, looking at the Ranger. " _This_ … is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas said, his voice still low and quiet.

Aragorn looked at him, and there was almost an air of resignation about him. " _Havo dad, Legolas_ ," he said quietly, urging the Elf to sit, and Legolas hesitated, yet submitted to the Man's wishes and returned to where he had sat before.

To Frodo it seemed as though Boromir attempted to force Aragorn's steady gaze aside with his own, yet in the end it was Boromir who was forced to surrender and turned his eyes aside. He looked instead at the elf, and there was an air of controlled anger about him. "Gondor," he said coldly, "has no king." Turning away, the Man walked to his seat and sat again, but although he scornfully looked away, his eyes flickered for a moment towards Aragorn as he finished, in a tone of determination, "Gondor _needs_ no king."

Frodo's eyes were wide with surprise and he turned sharply towards Aragorn, whose face was guarded. It seemed to him now, looking upon the Man, that he had always known, or at least suspected, for now that he had a name to put to it, Aragorn had a regal air that seemed to gather about him like a cloak, and that air was about him as he matched Boromir's blazing eyes with a steady and unwavering gaze of his own.

Then Gandalf spoke, and the pregnant tension was broken, or at the least set aside. "Aragorn is right," he said, and at that moment he seemed quite old and tired. "We _cannot_ use it."

"You have but one choice," said Elrond, and his eyes were hard. "The Ring must be destroyed."

Boromir sighed as one gravely disappointed and turned his eyes aside, but Gimli suddenly growled in a voice like the stone, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Grabbing up his axe Gimli strode to the center, and before words could be spoken, he brought it down with a crash on the tiny golden circle.

Light flashed in the eyes of all present, and there was a great sound of metal stressed beyond its limits and shattering. As his vision at last cleared, Frodo saw the dwarf lying sprawled on the stone. The axe, now reduced to fragments and splinters of head and helve, lay in pieces about him, and scattered over the plinth. And in the center, the ring remained, unmoved and unmarked.

"The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," said Elrond gravely as the shaken dwarf returned to his seat. "It was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.

"One of you must do this."

Silence reigned, heavy and absolute, unbroken by sound or motion, and even the sound of the river seemed muted. The golden sunlight was robbed of all warmth in the weight of the silence.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," said Boromir quietly, and when he turned towards the Council, his eyes were haunted. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there… that does not sleep. And the great Eye… is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, and ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Legolas rose suddenly, and his eyes and voice were sharp. "Have you heard _nothing_ Lord Elrond has said?" he demanded. He turned those piercing eyes on the rest of Council. "The Ring _must_ be destroyed!"

Gimli rose, and his gimlet eyes were angry and hot. "And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it!" he snarled, and the Elf's eyes met his own unflinchingly.

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir demanded, and to Frodo's growing unease, the Man, too, rose to his feet, and he waved an arm angrily towards the East. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

A darkness seemed to be coming over the Council, and Frodo could only barely make out the roar as Gimli declared, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an _Elf_!"

Shouting erupted, Elves and Dwarves lunging to their feet, and Frodo could only stare in dismay. It was as though he was watching everything from a distance, and images and sounds only came to him disjointedly. Legolas put out his arms to block the other elves from bringing the conflict to blows, be it by strikes of their own or be it by getting within the reach of the Dwarves. Gimli shouted, "Never trust an elf!," his eyes seeking out the support of his fellows. Aragorn and Fuingwae exchanged looks and settled back, looks of resignation on their faces and very little surprise. Gandalf rose from his side to attempt to mediate, crying, "Don't you understand? Already Sauron is at work among us! We cannot afford to bicker over past arguments! If all grievances that stand between us are to be brought forth we may as well surrender now!" Boromir moved among them, a calculating look of consideration on his face as he listened to Gandalf's words. And there lay the ring, reflecting all in its polished golden surface.

A great dread was on Frodo, as though he were awaiting the pronouncement of some great doom that he had long foreseen and vainly hoped might after all never be spoken. He felt a great resolve take him, but yet it was not until he found himself standing and heard his voice cry, as though some other will was using his small voice, that he understood its meaning. "I will take it!"

But his voice was lesser in a cacophony of other shouts, and vanished without being heard amongst the shouts. Frodo swallowed, but it was as though some great force was in him, and he found himself repeating the cry: " _I will take it!_ "

Still his voice went unheard in the chaos, but movement from the side caught his eye. He looked over to find Fuingwae had risen to her feet. She studied him for a moment, her shadowed eyes thoughtful – then she turned and raised her chin, and shouted with all the force that was in her lungs:

"ENOUGH!"

Shock rippled through the gathering, as her clear, high voice cut through the sound of the arguments like a knife. Yet some Elves, ones who had special cause to dislike Dwarves, and likewise Dwarves with cause to dislike Elves, continued to argue, too caught up in their conflict to notice the cry. Undaunted, Fuingwae strode into their midst, eyes blazing with determination. Then she shouted again, but to Frodo's surprise, she spoke twice, once in the Elvish language and once in a guttural tongue that must have been Dwarvish. Certainly it shocked the dwarves, and they stood back and looked at her in amazement, and with the loss of the Dwarvish antagonists, the Elves, too, allowed themselves to quiet. Finally the last murmurs died away to expectant silence again, all eyes fixed on the tall, proud woman with hot viridian eyes standing in their midst.

Yet Fuingwae's eyes were locked on Frodo's, and he found that his voice had not yet deserted him, nor had his will. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he said, and saw Gandalf's eyes close, almost as though the words brought the wizard physical pain. As one, the Council turned to face him, a small, almost childlike figure barely more than half their height. Astonishment – and newfound respect – was in their faces as Frodo continued, in a quieter, almost frightened voice, "Though… I… do not know the way…"

Gandalf seemed to sigh, then stepped forward, and his eyes were kind. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," he said, "as long as it is yours to bear." And he walked behind Frodo, placing a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder in support.

Aragorn rose, grey eyes steady and calm. "If by my life or death I can protect you," he said quietly, "I will."

Then the Ranger knelt before Frodo and said simply, "You have my sword."

There was a stir, and then, to the Hobbit's surprise, Legolas said, "And you have my bow."

"And my axe!" Gimli announced, stepping forward. He stopped at Legolas' side, looking angry but determined not to disrupt the Council again. The elf sighed ever so slightly, but otherwise did not react.

Boromir stepped forward, and his expression was faintly uncertain as he looked at Frodo. "You carry the Fate of us all, little one," he said. "If this is indeed the will of the Council," he looked up to Elrond, who nodded slowly, "then Gondor will see it done."

There was a shout, and suddenly Aragorn's hand, which rested on Frodo's right shoulder, was pushed aside by Sam, who had suddenly appeared from the greenery. "Well, Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" he announced, crossing his arms defiantly and standing close to his Master's side.

Elrond's eyebrows arched. "Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you," he said with a smile, "even when _he_ is summoned to a secret council and _you_ are not."

There was another shout, this time from the archway leading to the hall. "Hey, we're coming too!"

Elrond's amused smile vanished as he stared in shock at the two hobbits who suddenly appeared charging without a care for decorum or dignity into the circle to skid to a halt next to their friends, as Merry continued defiantly, "You'll have to send us home all tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway," Pippin said importantly, "you need people of _intelligence_ on this sort of – mission. Quest. Thing!" Elrond looked to Gandalf, but the old wizard only shook his head helplessly.

"Well, that rules _you_ out, Pip," Merry said tartly.

"Nine companions," Fuingwae said reflectively, but with a faint glimmer of excitement in her eye. "For the Nine Riders, I suppose. But let us not forget that Saruman, too, stands against us! Gandalf stands as his counterpart, yet that leaves the Company one short." So saying, she, too, came forward. "Therefore, I, too, offer to you, Master Hobbit, what knowledge and skills are mine to command – if you will have them."

"Please!" Boromir cried. "We are already burdened with these children!" As though unaware of the indignant expressions on the faces of the Hobbits, he continued, "What possible use could a woman be?"

"Language and lore are not my only skills," she said coolly; " nor is battle the sole territory of Men, son of Gondor." And with those words, she turned away from him, looking only to Frodo for his response.

"Yet there is an elf in our company already!" Gimli objected.

Frodo looked on her, and again he noted the strange shadow about her, a shadow of time, and not the bright light that wreathed the elves in his sight, which still carried echoes of his near-fall into the realm of Shadow. Now, at long last, he understood it. "She's not an elf," he said suddenly, and his eyes widened as he heard his own words.

"No," she said calmly. "I am Fuingwae, a Ranger of the North, and I offer you what skills and wisdom are mine to command."

Frodo hesitated, then nodded.

"Ten companions," Elrond said, and there was an air of satisfaction about him as he looked on the company that had formed.

"So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

There was a sudden relaxation, especially amongst the Hobbits, as though they had been unsure if, in the end, the great lord would accept their offers of aid and companionship to their friend. Smiles broke out among the company.

"Great," said Pippin. "So… where are we going?"

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Three

It was not until several weeks later that the company set out from Rivendell, for first they waited to hear news regarding the fate of the Black Riders. Immediately, three horses were found drowned in the flooded Ford. However, it was not until some time later that five more were found dead on the rocks of the rapids beyond, and with them a long black cloak, tattered and slashed. Of Gollum, not even the Eagles found a trace.

"Eight out of the Nine are accounted for at least," said Gandalf. "Though the Enemy has other servants, they must take the same roads as we ourselves, and if we are careful perhaps they will miss our trail. But we must delay no longer."

Narsil, the sword of Elendil, was forged anew, and on its blade was traced a device of seven stars set between the crescent Moon and rayed Sun, and about them were written many runes. Very bright was that sword when it was made whole again; the light of the sun shone redly in it, and the light of the moon shone cold, and its edge was hard and keen. Aragorn gave it a new name: Andúril, Flame of the West.

Gandalf and Aragorn spent long hours pouring over maps of the territory that the Fellowship would cross in their journey, accompanied at times by Fuingwae, for although she had never traveled the lands south of Caradras she knew much of the lore of the lands beyond. At times they were also joined by Frodo, but for the most part the Ringbearer was content to lean on their guidance, and spent as much time as he could with Bilbo.

It was a cold grey day near the end of December. The East Wind was streaming through the bare branches of the trees, and seething in the dark pines on the hills. As the cheerless shadows of the early evening began to fall the Company made ready to set out. They were to start at dusk, for Elrond counseled them to journey under cover of night as often as they could, until they were far from Rivendell.

"You should fear the many eyes of the servants of Sauron," he said. "I do not doubt that the news of the discomfiture of the Riders has already reached him, and he will be filled with wrath. Soon now his spies on foot and wing will be abroad in the northern lands. Even of the sky above you must beware as you go on your way."

The Company took little gear of war, for their hope was in secrecy rather than battle. Aragorn had Andúril and a simple hunting bow, but no other weapon save a small dagger, and he went forth clad in dull black. Boromir had a long sword, in fashion like Andúril but of less lineage, and he bore also a round shield and his war-horn.

"Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills," he said, "and then let all the foes of Gondor flee!" Putting it to his lips, he blew a blast, and the echoes leapt from rock to rock, and all that heard that voice in Rivendell sprang to their feet.

"Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir," said Elrond, "until you stand once more on the borders of your land, and dire need is on you."

"Maybe," said Boromir, "but always I have let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I will not go forth as a thief in the night."

Like Aragorn, Fuingwae carried with her a hunting bow, joined by an elvish sword and short hunting dagger at her hip. No more did she wear a fine gown, having returned the dress to the one from whom it had been lent. Now she wore men's clothing of leather tunic and shirt, in the browns and greys of the land in troll-country, from whence she came, and her hair was pulled back from her face. Gimli wore heavy mail and a round helm etched with twined and knot-like bands, for dwarves make light of burdens, and in his belt was a broad-bladed axe. Legolas had a bow and a quiver, and at his belt a long white knife, and he was clad in the green and brown of the forest.

The younger hobbits still carried the swords of Westernesse given to them by Strider on that dark night at Weathertop, save Frodo, whose blade had been broken when he confronted the Nine Riders at the Ford of Bruinen. He instead carried Sting, and Sam assumed that Bilbo had given him the blade the evening before, or at some other time when the two had remained closeted together in the old Hobbit's room. As for Gandalf, he bore his staff, but girt at his side was the elven-sword Glamdring, the mate of Orcrist that lay now upon the breast of Thorin under the Lonely Mountain.

The company also brought with them a pack-animal, Sam's beloved Bill. "That animal can nearly talk," he said, "and would talk, if he stayed here much longer. He gave me a look as plain as Mr. Pippin could speak it: if you don't let me go with you, Sam, I'll follow on my own."

Now the company waited, their farewells said, for Gandalf, who had not yet come out of the house. Bilbo huddled in a cloak stood next to Frodo on the doorstep. Aragorn, deep in thought, sat with his head bowed to his knees, and Sam, waiting beside Bill, wondered if perhaps this journey meant something more to the Man than he was aware of. Sucking on his teeth, Sam stared moodily into the gloom where the river roared stonily below; his desire for adventure was at its lowest ebb.

"Bill, my lad," he said, "you oughtn't to have took up with us. You could have stayed here and et the best hay till the new grass comes."

Bill swished his tail and said nothing. Sam hefted his pack, running through his belongings in his mind – pipe-weed, flint and tinder, some changes of clothes, various items that Frodo had forgotten…

"Rope!" he muttered. "No rope! And only last night you said to yourself, 'Sam, what about a bit of rope? You'll want it, if you haven't got it.' Well, I'll want it. I can't get it now."

For as Sam spoke chastisement to himself, Elrond came out with Gandalf, and he called the Company to him. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid; neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need." It seemed to Sam that Elrond's eyes searched each of the Company penetratingly, resting longest on Boromir and perhaps on himself. "The others go with him as free companions by their own choice, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows, but recall that you chose this path of your own will and pledged your aid. Yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road."

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," said Gimli.

"Maybe," said Elrond, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not yet seen the nightfall."

"Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart," said the dwarf.

"Or break it," said Elrond. "Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine on your faces!"

And with farewells and calls of blessing from those of Elrond's folk who watched from the houses, the company turned and faded silently away into the dusk. They crossed the bridge and wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the cloven vale of Rivendell; and they came at length to the high moor where the wind hissed through the heather. Then with one glance at the Last Homely House twinkling below them they strode away far into the night.

At the Ford of Bruinen they left the Road and turning south-wards went on by narrow paths among the folded lands. Their purpose was to hold this course west of the Mountains for many miles and days. The country was much rougher and more barren than in the green vale of the Great River in Wilderland on the other side of the range, and their going would be slow; but they hoped in this way to escape the notice of unfriendly eyes. The spies of Sauron had hitherto seldom been seen in this emptry country, and the paths were little known except to the people of Rivendell.

Gandalf walked in front, and with him went Aragorn and Fuingwae, who knew this land even in the dark. The others were in file behind, and Legolas was the rearguard with his keen elven eyes. For many sunless days an icy blast came from the Mountains in the east, and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers. Though the company was well clad, they seldom felt warm, either moving or at rest, despite the fur-lined jackets and cloaks gifted to them by Elrond's folk. They slept uneasily during the middle of the day, in some hollow of the land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in thickets in many places. In the late afternoon they were roused by the watch, and took their chief meal: cold and cheerless as a rule, for they could seldom risk the lighting of a fire. In the evening they went on again, always as nearly southward as they could find a way.

At first it seemed to the hobbits that although they walked and stumbled until they were weary, they were creeping forward like snails, and getting nowhere. Each day the land looked much the same as it had the day before. Perhaps the others, too, felt this way, for at times tempers would flare.

In one such circumstance, they had made camp among a gathering of great stones, where a small stream collected into a pond before finding its way out of the hollow and away into the empty land. There scrub and brush had grown in response to the presence of water, though the banks of the pond were bare stone, and the Company took shelter in the shadow of the stones, where the greenery served to block some of the wind.

The others were startled from their uneasy rest by a sudden shout. Running to the source, they encountered Fuingwae and Boromir, who had departed to fill the water bottles at the pool. The two were circling each other with fury in their eyes, and Boromir's jaw showed a dark bruise where Fuingwae's fist had found a mark.

"Stop this immediately!" Gandalf cried, jumping forward. "We cannot afford this foolishness now!"

The others of the company, frozen briefly by surprise, found command of their bodies again and followed the wizard. Aragorn moved between the two fearlessly and forced them apart with his arms. Before the combatants could react, the others had restrained them; Fuingwae went down under a pile of frightened and upset hobbits, and Boromir found his arm caught and held back with surprising strength by Legolas, as Gimli came to his other side with a warning look in his flinty eyes.

Sam found himself sitting on the woman's back; a most uncomfortable position, for Fuingwae had no inclination to be calmed by the ending of the stand-off. "Miss!" he yelped helplessly, waving his hands in the air. "Calm down, Missy, calm down!" Fuingwae's protests did not cease, however, and Sam soon fell off his unhappy perch as she shoved herself up, scattering the hobbits – all but Frodo, who remained outside the conflict, watching with wide and unhappy eyes. Beyond her, Sam saw Boromir begin to move forward again, but Gandalf interposed himself and began talking softly and urgently to the Man, who was still being restrained by Legolas and Gimli.

At this moment, Sam realized that Fuingwae and Aragorn had both vanished from his sight. Almost the moment that he realized this, however, a blistering string of oaths in several tongues ended with a resounding _Splash_! All turned in surprise, to see Aragorn standing on the stone bank of the pool, his face stern, as Fuingwae surfaced spluttering with indignation from the water.

For long moments, the tableau reigned in silence, as the Company stared at the woman, who glared at them like a gathering storm about to break. Then there was a half-choked snicker from Pippin, which increased in strength until he was only barely biting back laughter. Perhaps he would have succeeded, save that Merry, too, began to chortle. Soon both were rolling on the stones in laughter, kicking their feet in the air. Then Sam, too, found himself laughing, for though the situation should not have been humorous he found that everything, when taken together, culminated in a highly amusing total. Then he heard Frodo begin to laugh, joined by a deep rumbling chuckle from Gimli. Fuingwae looked to them in surprise, but then her lips began to twitch as well, and as she looked down at herself, standing thigh-deep in the water and soaked through, she, too, began to laugh.

The tension broke in the Company. Though Aragorn's bearing remained stern, he relaxed slightly, and soon almost everyone was chuckling. Even Boromir reluctantly smiled, though it seemed to Sam that the big Man's anger had yet to abate, and the Company filled their water bottles and returned to camp together, where they judged it safe enough to light a small and smokeless fire to dry Fuingwae's clothing as she changed into her spare set. Of the causes of that scuffle, Sam never heard more, though he suspected that Boromir had spoken words thoughtlessly regarding the Rangers, and perhaps Aragorn in specific, for ever afterward when Aragorn spoke, Fuingwae would turn challenging eyes on the Man of Gondor. From that day onward, however, the Company was careful never to allow Fuingwae and Boromir to be left alone together, for fear that the unsettled argument would rise again.

But despite the perceptions of the weary travelers, they covered a great distance each day, for steadily the mountains were drawing nearer. South of Rivendell they rose ever higher, and bent westwards; and about the feet of the main range was tumbled an ever wider land of bleak hilled, and deep valleys filled with turbulent waters. Paths were few and winding, and led them often only to the edge of some sheer fall, or down into treacherous swamps.

They had been a fortnight on the way when the weather changed. The wind suddenly fell and then veered round to the south. The swift-flowing clouds lifted and melted away, and the sun came out, pale and bright. There came a cold clear dawn at the end of a long stumbling nightmarch. The travelers reached a low ridge crowned with ancient holly-trees whose grey-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hills. Their dark leaves shone and their berries glowed red in the light of the rising sun. Sam heard Gandalf name the land _Hollin_ , and decree that there they would rest for a day before moving on.

That morning they lit a fire, and their supper-breakfast was hot for the first time in many days. Sam especially was pleased, for he had carried his cooking-gear for many a long mile without using it. After eating, the companions found that they were not quite ready yet to retire for sleep, not when this was the first they had seen of the sun in quite some time. Instead, they talked quietly, and Boromir continued teaching Merry and Pippin the way of a swordthane.

"One, two, three, four," he chanted steadily, drilling them in a few basic blocks, as Sam sat watching with Frodo.

"You block good, Pippin," Merry said lightly, and he came forward to take his turn.

"Move your feet," said Aragorn around his pipe, for the Ranger was overseeing the training.

"If anyone were to ask my opinion," Gimli said, and Sam turned to see the Dwarf speaking to Gandalf from their perch in the rocks where the day's camp was made, "and I know they're not, I'd say we were taking the _long_ way around." Turning to the wizard, he continued, "Gandalf – we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome."

But the wizard's face became surprisingly solemn. "No, Gimli," he said slowly, "I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." 

To Sam it seemed as though Gimli desired to demand an explanation for the wizard's words, but the two were distracted briefly by Legolas, who had moved to stand high on a rock near them, his eyes intently studying the skies to the south.

A yelp from Pippin drew Sam's attention once more to the sparring duelists, as he saw Pippin drop his sword and clutch his hand. "Sorry!" Boromir cried, moving forward to help Pippin.

However, Pippin suddenly leapt towards the Man and delivered a mighty kick to Boromir's shin, tripping the Man. "Get him!" he shouted, and Boromir was tossed to the ground under the weight of the two hobbits with a bellow of startled laughter. "He's got my arm!" Merry cried, and Pippin's response was lost as the watching members of the Fellowship laughed. Sam turned to see what Gandalf's reaction had been, but then realized that the wizard was instead watching Legolas, who had not turned. Curious, Sam peered southwards himself, attempting to see what had caught the elf's attention so, and became aware of a tiny smudge in the sky. "What is that?" he asked curiously, drawing the attention of the others.

Gimli snorted. "Nothing! It's just a wisp of cloud."

But as Boromir came up to look, his face was suddenly serious though he had been laughing mere moments before. "It's moving fast," he said, "and against the wind…"

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas suddenly cried.

These words meant little to the Hobbits, but the others jerked as though shot. " _Hide!_ " Aragorn shouted.

The Fellowship burst into motion, grabbing up packs. Sam grabbed a pan of water and doused the fire quickly as everyone dove for shelter under stone or thicket. He looked for Bill, but saw the pony not, and in the next moment was pulled by Frodo into a cranny under a great stone and covered by a bush. In moments, the stones were silent around them and seemed deserted. Dead silence hung about them, so complete that Sam fancied he could hear his joints creaking when he stirred even slightly.

Then came the birds, a great flock of them, huge and black. They flew together, so densely that their shadow followed them darkly on the ground below. They flew low over the stones, in eerie quiet, for few called, and the greatest sound was the flapping of their many wings. The black birds seemed to hesitate, swirling over the stones for a time, then they flew away, no longer flying north but now going south-east, and Sam felt a strange chill as he realized that they had just nearly doubled back – as though from a mission accomplished.

Silence fell again, and it was a minute or two before the Fellowship emerged from their hiding places, gathering together around Gandalf.

"Spies," Gandalf said, his expression tight.

"But of Saruman – or Sauron?" asked Fuingwae, and Sam was relieved to see that she and Bill had taken shelter in the leeward side of a stone, covered by brambles and amongst brown dirt where Bill's dun coat would not stand out so badly.

"It matters not," said Gandalf. "I feared this would come. The passage south is being watched."

He turned, and his gaze guided all eyes to the great mountain that loomed nearby; a mighty peak, tipped with snow like silver, but with sheer naked sides, dull red as if stained with blood.

"We must take the Pass of Caradhras!"

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Four

They moved out that day, heading towards Caradhras. Its sides were now dark and sullen, and its head was in grey cloud. Fuingwae tested the air and looked back.

"Winter deepens behind us," she said quietly to Aragorn. "The heights away north are whiter than they were; snow is lying on their shoulders. Enemies may spot us as we make for the Redhorn Gate, yet I fear the weather may prove to be our most deadly enemy on the heights of Caradhras. Have we no other way?"

"None but the most perilous," he replied. "Yet perils known and unknown will grow as we go on, and it is no good delaying our passage of the mountains. The Gap of Rohan is already under guard, and who knows which side now the marshals of the Horse-lords serve, should we somehow evade the spies who set watch for us. We must risk the Pass."

"Come, everyone," Gandalf called from ahead. "I fear that the Redhorn Gate may also be watched; and also I have doubts of the weather that is coming up behind. We must go with all the speed that we can, for it will take us more than two marches before we reach the top of the pass, and we must not be caught in foul weather."

"I will add a word of advice, if I may," said Boromir. "I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know something of journeys in the high places. If nothing worse, we will meet bitter cold there, and it will do us little good to travel in secret and be frozen for our trouble. There is some wood here. Let each gather a faggot, as much as he can bear, against the chance of cold." He glanced to Fuingwae, who looked at him with her challenging eyes. "Or she," he conceded reluctantly, and the woman seemed taken aback by his acknowledgment.

"And Bill could take a bit more, couldn't you, lad?" said Sam.

The pony looked at him mournfully and breathed a gusty sigh.

"Very well," said Gandalf, "but we must not use the wood – not unless it is a choice between life and death."

The way soon became steep and difficult, and the twisting and climbing road nearly vanished many times, or was blocked with fallen stones. Laboriously they climbed a sharp slope and halted for a moment at the top. Frodo felt a soft touch on his face. He put out his arm and saw the dim white flakes of snow settling on his sleeve. Before long the snow was falling fast, filling all the air, and swirling into Frodo's eyes. The dark bent shapes of Gandalf and Aragorn only a pace or two ahead could hardly be seen in the blackness.

"I don't like this at all, Mr. Frodo," Sam panted from just behind him. "Snow's all fine and well from inside a cozy Hobbit-hole with a proper fire to warm your toes, if you take my meaning, but this is a bit much of it, sir."

"I know what you mean, Sam," Frodo said, "but we'll be seeing more of it before the night is over. How the wind howls!"

But the snowfall was growing heavier, and now the flakes combined with darkness to hide the path. Snow was already ankle-deep about Gandalf's boots, and laid thick on his hood and shoulders.

"This is what I feared," Fuingwae said. "What do you say now?"

"That I feared it too," Gandalf said, "but less than other things."

"I knew the risk of snow, though it seldom falls heavily so far south save high in the mountains – but we are not high yet. We are still far down, where the paths are usually open all the winter," said Aragorn.

"I wonder if this is a contrivance of the Enemy," said Boromir. "They say in my land that he can govern the storms in the Mountains of Shadow that stand upon the borders of Mordor. He has strange powers and many allies."

"His arm has grown long indeed," said Gimli, who looked about at the close darkness with a hand to his axe, as though he feared that the great Foe would appear from the storm itself to assail them, "if he can draw snow down from the North to trouble us here, three hundred leagues away."

A chill that did not spring from the wintry air about them ran through the Company as Gandalf simply replied, in neither confirmation nor negation, "His arm has grown long."

However, the storm drew to an end soon, and the skies cleared, and when the sun rose on the weary Company it was blazingly clear and hard on the white snow. The Fellowship walked along a ridge, seeking shelter, and the angle of the ridge was steep and wearisome to climb through the snow, especially for the Hobbits, whose shorter legs encumbered them.

Suddenly the snow under Frodo's feet gave way. Too startled to catch himself he tumbled down the incline, rolling faster and faster.

"Frodo!" Aragorn, who walked at the rear of the group against such an instance, caught him and helped Frodo to his feet. Frodo quickly brushed himself off, knowing the danger of allowing the snow to melt on his clothing, and discovered that his collar had come open in the tumble.

The chain which held the Ring was missing.

Alarm flared in every fiber of his being. Frodo looked about frantically. At last, he saw it, a plain circle of gold lying bright in the churned snow and glittering in the sunlight. But it did not remain there for long, for Boromir, who was the closest, lifted it from the snow.

"Boromir," Aragorn called shortly, for he did not like the distant look in the man's eyes – nor the way he lifted the Ring by its chain to watch it dangle, glittering, on level with his face.

Yet Boromir did not seem to hear him, and it was almost as though his eyes looked on another place, another time, as he stared at the Ring. "It is a strange fate, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt," he said slowly, and his voice, too, was distant, as though his thoughts were only voiced by some will other than his own. His hand shifted the chain slightly, and the Ring sparkled as it slipped upon the chain links. "…for so small a thing… such a _little_ thing…" And his free hand began slowly to rise, as though unaware of movement, toward the Ring.

Looking back, Fuingwae began to move towards the Man, yet Gandalf who stood near her grabbed the Ranger's arm and held her back, for he knew that Boromir stood at the edge of a precipice, and would not risk that the woman might inadvertently cause a fall. For the Ring had a will of its own, and that will was seeking hands to serve it.

"Boromir!" Aragorn said, and his voice was hard and commanding. And Boromir responded to that voice, starting as a sleeper would when suddenly waking from a strange dream, unsure of his surroundings for an instant as the mind recovered. His hazel eyes were clouded and uncertain as he looked to Aragorn, whose gaze was strong, stern and steady; so, too, was Aragorn's voice – but there was also warning there. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

Boromir shook his head though not in negation, and his confusion seemed to fade – but he lowered the Ring, and walked towards them. Frodo felt strangely frightened as the Man approached, for there was a strange contest of wills in the air of which the Ring was only a part, and perhaps even a lesser part. Boromir's eyes seemed locked on the still, imposing Ranger. But Boromir extended his hand, and the Ring dangled from it, and he offered it to Frodo. "As you wish," he said, as though humoring Aragorn.

Frodo, suddenly frightened, snatched the Ring back, and felt strangely relieved at its terrible weight in his hand. The tension seemed to ease, and the watching Fellowship found that they had been waiting with bated breath to see the outcome.

Boromir laughed, slightly, though he still seemed uneasy. "I care not," he said, though his eyes still studied Aragorn almost calculatingly. Glancing down at the Hobbit, he reached out again and ruffled Frodo's hair, and then turned away with another not-quite laugh, re-settling his shield upon his back.

Behind Frodo, Aragorn sighed, for he had been unsure of the outcome. He slowly released Andúril's hilt, and helped Frodo climb the slope back to the rest of the Fellowship.

Farther up the slopes they climbed, the trail growing narrow as it rose, winding along the side of the mountain. The snow returned tenfold, and as they climbed the wind grew only fiercer and colder. The snow flew into their eyes, driven by the fierce wind into a raging blizzard, and soon even Boromir found it hard going. Though Gandalf in the lead broke a trail with his staff, soon the snow was too deep for the Hobbits and the men were forced to carry them on their backs. Boromir who walked behind Gandalf carried Merry, followed by Aragorn, who bore Frodo and Sam together. Fuingwae carrying Pippin came next, and the rear was taken by Gimli, who led the reluctant Bill. There was little choice but to go on or admit defeat and go back, however, for the Fellowship was trapped on the trail against a high, sheer cliff overhung with snow, with only a sheer drop to hard stones far, far below them to their right.

Legolas walked alongside the others, for he was of the Elven-kind and his light tread left barely a mark on the surface of the snow. Passing Gandalf, he came to the edge of their trail fearless of the great drop before him and listened. Frodo did not know what Legolas hoped to hear in the howl of the wind, yet it was as though some sound had reached the Elf regardless, for his fair face became grave and concerned. "There is a fell voice on the air!" he cried, turning to Gandalf.

Alarm was in the wizard's face, yet before he could speak to give words of warning or strength there was a great crack from the cliff above them. Stones fell to the path about the company, who pressed against the great cliff face to escape them.

"Beware!" Boromir shouted. "This is dark work, and no natural storm! These stones are aimed at us!"

"We cannot survive on this bare cliff!" Fuingwae called. "Aragorn, Gandalf, we must turn back!"

Gandalf shook his head. "No!" he cried, and struggling forward he found a place where he could rise above the snow to a degree. Raising his staff, he began to shout strange, ringing words of command that echoed in the great mountain storm. What he said Frodo was unsure, for the Hobbit could only determine the name ' _Caradhras_ ' within the cry.

Yet whatever wizardry Gandalf was attempting failed against the malignance of the storm. A great thundering came from above them and the Company looked up only to cry out in dismay, for a massive wall of white was rushing down the mountain and dropping from the clifftop upon them. Again they retreated to the cliff-face, save Legolas, who rushed forth, grabbing the wizard and pulling him back to safety as the avalanche buried path and Fellowship together.

The Company pushed their way free of the snow. By some stroke of luck none had been harmed, yet the pass before them was blocked beyond all hope of clearing in the howling storm.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir shouted over the wind. "Make for the Gap of Rohan! Then take the West Road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn objected, helping Frodo push the snow away from Sam. "We dare not take it!"

"If we cannot go over the mountain, let us go _under_ it!" Gimli declared, his beard a solid mass of white with snow. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"

Gandalf hesitated, and his eyes were haunted. "Let the Ring-bearer decide," he declared at last.

"Buried in a snowdrift is no place to discuss such matters!" Fuingwae objected.

"She speaks the truth, Gandalf," Legolas said. "And the storm has not abated. If we remain here, another avalanche may carry one of us over!"

"Then let us clear the trail back," Aragorn said. "The cliff bends a short way back, and the path turns under an overhang – that will provide shelter until we have decided our course."

The trail was choked with snow, but less so behind the Company than before, and the strong arms of Gimli cleared the trail for the others to follow, for it was little different to him than clearing loose stone from the outer paths of his mountain home. Behind him the Men cleared away the remainder and widened the path for those who came behind. Legolas went ahead to find the nearest and safest area for them to rest, and Gandalf kept the Hobbits together as Fuingwae walked behind, eyes and ears alert for the first hint of another avalanche.

The area where the Company halted was little different from the precipice on which they had been walking, save that the path was much broader and the incline it overlooked less sheer, and the cliff above their heads leaned outward somewhat, providing shelter from falling stones. "Shelter!" said Sam indignantly to Frodo. "Well, if that's _shelter_ , Mr. Frodo, then one wall and no roof makes a house!"

"We now face three choices," said Gandalf wearily. "To attempt the Pass again, to make for the Gap of Rohan and risk bringing the Ring close to Saruman… or to follow Gimli's suggestion and pass through the Mines. Each path has its own dangers. Caradhras has much more snow yet to throw at us, provided that the trail does not prove impassable. The risks of the Gap of Rohan, you already know."

"What of the Mines?" Frodo said fearfully. The Mines of Moria had a black name even in the Shire.

"The Mines… may be our greatest hope. For unless we lose our way within them, we will regain all the time we have lost with our attempt on Caradhras, and perhaps gain even more. Also, if we enter the Mines, the spies of the Enemy will perhaps lose our trail. And we may have friends there, if indeed Balin has reclaimed the mines."

"You don't sound very certain, Gandalf," said Merry uncertainly.

"I'm not." The old wizard looked penetratingly at Frodo. "I fear that Moria is still in darkness. I have passed through it and know the way, yes… but the memory is dark."

"I, too, have passed through Moria," said Aragorn. "Once. I do not wish to enter it a second time."

"Enough. Let Frodo decide," said Gandalf. "Each trail has its risks, but in the end he is the Ring-bearer, and where he goes we shall follow, unless we renege on our offered aid."

The Company was silent, and Frodo thought long and hard as the wood burned, for they had lit a fire to ward away some of the cold. Though the flames were sheltered from the wind by the cliff face and the piled snow, still the storm battered at the fire and threatened to extinguish it. Gandalf had mistrusted the risk they took of lighting the fire, but it had been necessary, for they had no desire to freeze.

Finally, he looked up. "We will go through the Mines," he said at last.

Gandalf sighed. "So be it."

They set out at once; the Men again broke trail for the smaller folk as Legolas traveled in front, bringing back word of the trail ahead. Fuingwae, too, led, for though she was not of Elven-kin, her lighter weight and trained tread did not sink as deeply into the snow as those of the others. Soon they broke free of the snow and were again descending the slopes. Yet behind them came a great shout of stone and thunder, and they turned to see a great slide cover their trail.

"Enough! Enough!" cried Gimli. "We are departing as quickly as we may!"

The morning was now far advanced. From the high place they looked back westwards over the lower lands. Far away in the tumble of country that lay at the foot of the mountain was the dell from which they had started to climb the pass.

Frodo's legs ached. He was chilled to the bone and hungry, and his head was dizzy as he thought of the long and painful march downhill. Black specks swam before his eyes. He rubbed them – but the black specks remained. In the distance below him, but still high above the lower foothills, dark dots were circling in the air.

"The birds again!" said Aragorn, pointing down.

"Yes," said Legolas, who could see them clearly. "They are the _crebain_ , and they are waiting for something."

"Perhaps for us," Boromir said darkly.

"That cannot be helped now," said Gandalf. "Whether they are good or evil or have nothing to do with us at all, we must go down at once. Not even on the knees of Caradhras will we wait for another night-fall!"

They came at last in darkness to the foothills of Caradhras again, and there they attempted to set camp, for the attempt on the mountain had sorely wearied them. Frodo had not yet heard the thoughts of his companions on his choice of path, and though he understood why Gandalf had asked for his decision, still he wished one of them would say something.

"Well, what's there to say, Mr. Frodo, sir?" Sam asked. "We all volunteered to go with you, and we knew we'd have some rough times for it. But see here, I'm thinking that it's about time we got sight of this Mount Doom and the end of our road, if you take my meaning, seeing as how we've come such an awful long way already."

Fuingwae laughed kindly. "You have a poor head for maps, do you not, Master Gamgee? We have barely covered the first leg of our journey, and perhaps the easiest leg at that. Once we have left these lands, things will become more challenging."

Frodo shivered. "And we shall get nowhere if we plan so far ahead that we leave ourselves behind in the dust!" he exclaimed. "Let us set this aside until we have slept for a bit. You shall get clearer answers from me in the light of morning when I am rested, than while I lie sleepless in this cold gloom. How the wind howls!"

At these words all fell into silent thought. They heard the wind hissing among the rocks and trees, and there was a howling and wailing round them in the empty spaces of the night.

Suddenly Aragorn leapt to his feet. "How the wind howls!" he cried. "It is howling with wolf-voices. The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!"

"We cannot wait, then!" said Fuingwae. "The hunt is up! Wolves or Wargs, a pack can be deadly in this barren land!"

"How far is Moria?" asked Boromir.

"There was a door, south-west of Caradhras, some fifteen miles as the crow flies. And maybe twenty, as the wolf runs," answered Gandalf grimly.

"Then let us start as soon as it is light tomorrow, if we can," said Boromir. "The wolf that one hears is worse than the orc that one fears."

"True," said Aragorn, loosening his sword in its sheath. "But where the Warg howls, there also the orc prowls."

"Wait!" called Legolas. "To flee is to allow them to bring us down as they please. Let us withdraw to the top of this hill. We shall be easily visible, yet so shall any Wargs who attempt to attack us."

The Company turned to Gandalf, for it was he who in the end provided final counsel, and the wizard nodded. "He is right. Up the hill! There is little point in secrecy if it costs our lives to maintain it! And light a fire. Darkness and silence will not keep our trail from discovery by the hunting packs, and if there are spies then the howls have already betrayed our presence."

The hill was crowned with a knot of old and twisted trees, about which lay a broken circle of boulder-stones. Round the fire they sat, and those that were not on guard dozed uneasily. Poor Bill the pony trembled and sweated where he stood. The howling of the wolves was now all round them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off. In the dead of night many shining eyes were seen peering over the brow of the hill. Some advanced almost to the ring of stones.

"Well, this is a proper fix!" muttered Merry to Sam. "I am no good after all. I don't think I ever remember feeling so wretched!"

"Although that time Farmer Maggot caught us comes certainly close, don't you think?" Pippin asked with a tremulous smile. "But I think that there is not enough of the breed of Bandobras the Bullroarer in me; these howls freeze my blood!"

"My heart's right down in my toes, Mr. Pippin," said Sam. "But we aren't eten yet, and there are some stout folk here with us who'll have a bone to pick over being et. Begging your pardon, I didn't mean it to sound quite that way! But whatever may be in store for old Gandalf, I'll wager it isn't a wolf's belly."

Then they fell silent, for at a gap in the circle a great dark wolf-shape halted, gazing at them. A shuddering howl broke from him, as if he were a captain summoning his pack to the assault.

Gandalf stood up and strode forward, holding his staff aloft. "Listen, Hound of Sauron!" he cried. "Gandalf is more than your match! Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring!"

The wolf snarled and sprang towards them with a great leap, and the hobbits quailed back. At that moment there was a sharp _twang_. Legolas had loosed his bow. There was a hideous choked yell, and the leaping shape thudded to the ground; the elvish arrow had pierced its throat. The watching eyes were suddenly extinguished, and though Gandalf and Aragorn strode forward, leaving the others to guard the fire and hobbits, the hill was deserted and the hunting packs had seemingly fled. All about them the darkness grew silent, and no cry came on the sighing wind. 

The night passed with interminable slowness, and the Fellowship found little rest. At every odd noise they would start awake, hearts hammering and hands clutching weapons as they stared wildly about for sign of assault. The night was old, and westward the waning moon was setting, gleaming fitfully through the breaking clouds, when Frodo suddenly awakened.

Without warning a storm of howls broke out fierce and wild all about the camp. A great host of Wargs had gathered silently and was now attacking them from every side at once.

"Fling fuel on the fire!" cried Gandalf to the hobbits as the others came to their feet prepared for battle. "Draw your blades, and stand back to back!"

The many grey shapes that sprang over the ring of stones took on a nightmarish quality in the leaping light as the fresh wood blazed up, especially in the confusion as more and yet more followed. Through the throat of one huge leader, Aragorn plunged his sword; with one sweep Boromir hewed the head from another. Beside them to one side Gimli stood with his stout legs apart and braced, wielding his dwarf-axe; to the other, Fuingwae guarded them with curved sword in one hand and dagger in the other, warding off any who would attack the smaller members of the band. The bow of Legolas was singing.

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow; he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. They gave back before him. High in the air he tossed the blazing brand. It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning, and his voice rolled like thunder. " _Naur an edraith amen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!_ '

The tree above him burst into a leaf and bloom of blinding flame which leapt from tree-top to tree-top, and the whole hill was suddenly crowned with dazzling, searing light. The swords and knives of the defenders shone and flickered. The last arrow of Legolas kindled in the air as it flew, and plunged burning into the heart of a great wolf-chieftain. All the others fled.

Slowly the fire died till nothing was left but falling ash and sparks; a bitter smoke curled above the burned tree-stumps, and blew darkly from the hill as the first light of dawn came dimly in the sky. Their enemies did not return.

"What did I tell you, Mr. Pippin?" said Sam, sheathing his sword. "Wolves won't get him. That was an eye-opener, and no mistake! Nearly singed the hair off my head!"

When the full light of the morning came no sign of the wolves was to be found. They looked in vain for the bodies of the dead, yet the hilltop was barren.

"Was it all a bad dream?" Pippin asked, rubbing his eyes in astonishment. "If so, then I do wish I had woken up sooner and saved myself quite a fright!"

"I do not think that it was a dream," said Frodo. "or if it was, then we all shared it."

"Don't be silly, Pip," said Merry. "Of course it wasn't a dream! No dream would snare Gandalf, anyway. Besides, the trees are still smoking."

Yet save for the ash and char of the burned trees, the only trace of the battle in the night that the Company could find were the arrows of Legolas lying on the hill-top. All were undamaged save one, of which only the point remained. The Elf gathered them together, for he feared that he would need them again ere they reached a place where he could replace them.

"It is as I feared," said Gandalf. "These were no ordinary wolves hunting for food in the wilderness. Let us leave this place quickly!"

The skies had cleared, as though the storm had fulfilled its purpose and some greater power now desired a clear light in which things that moved in the wild could be seen from far away. Gandalf led now, for this land had been trodden by Aragorn only once, and that long ago.

"We must reach the doors before sunset," said the wizard, "or I fear we shall not reach them at all. It is not far, but our path may be winding. Haste is needed. Let us go!"

"I do not know which to hope," said Boromir grimly; "that Gandalf will find what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the gates lost for ever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance. Lead on!"

Gimli now walked by the wizard's side, so eager was he to come to Moria. Together they lead the Company towards the Mountains again, through a barren country of red stones. All was bleak and dry, and save themselves there was no sign of living things, not even a bird in the sky; but what the night would bring if it caught them in that lost land, none cared to think.

"Well, this is a lovely little picnicking ground," Pippin said with forced cheer. 'Why, I fancy all we'd need invite are a pack of orcs and a troop of Wargs and we could have a nice cozy little party. We could even invite a wraith or two just to even things out!"

Behind them Boromir laughed, though his voice was short and sharp with tension; but Merry blanched and shushed him, and Frodo found himself searching the horizon fearfully for sign of the Ringwraiths, as though the mere mention of them were enough to summon the Nazgûl. He shivered and tried to turn his mind to other things, yet now all his mind could focus upon were the black shadows among the broken stones, for the sun was now steadily descending in the west.

The day was drawing to its end, and cold stars were glinting in the sky high above the sunset, when Gandalf led them up a slope, and they came at last to a great pool of still water as black as nightmares, in its midst chocked and drowned trees. In breadth it looked to be no more than two or three furlongs at the widest point. How far it stretched away southward they could not see in the failing light; but its northern end was no more than half a mile from where they stood, and between the stony ridges that enclosed the valley and the water's edge there was a rim of open ground.

They hurried forward, for they had still a mile or two to go before they could read the point on the far shore that Gandalf was making for. But for a moment, Gimli stood silent in speechless awe. "The walls of Moria…" he whispered reverently. Then at his companions' urging he followed, but a spring was in his step.

To reach the far wall, the Company crossed a narrow creek, green and stagnant, that blocked their way, thrust out like a slimy arm towards the enclosing hills. Gimli strode forward undeterred in his eagerness, and found that the water was shallow, no more than ankle-deep at the edge. Behind him they walked in file, threading their way with care, for under the weedy pools were sliding and greasy stones, and the footing was treacherous. Frodo shuddered with disgust at the touch of the dark unclean water on his feet.

As Sam, the last of the Company, led Bill up on to the dry ground on the far side, there came a soft sound; a swish, followed by a plop, as if a fish had disturbed the still surface of the water, and they saw ripples, black-edged with shadow in the waning light: great rings were widening outwards from a point far out in the lake. There was a bubbling noise, and then silence. The dusk deepened, and the last gleams of the sunset were veiled in cloud.

They reached the strip of dry land between lake and cliff; it was narrow, often hardly a dozen yards across, and encumbered with fallen rock and stones; but they found a way, hugging the cliff, and keeping as far from the dark water as they might. A mile southwards along the shore they came upon holly trees. Stumps and dead boughs were rotting in the shadows. But close under the cliff there stood still strong and living two tall trees, larger than any trees of holly that Frodo had ever seen or imagined. Their trunks were long and silver, and their branches interlocked over an expanse of stone between them.

To this bare place Gandalf went, and he carefully felt along the stone, running his hands over it as though searching for something. "Here the Elven-way from Hollin ended," he said as he searched. "Holly was the token of the people of that land, and they planted it here to mark the end of their domain, for the West-door was made chiefly for their use in their traffic with the Lords of Moria. Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship between folk of different race, even between Dwarves and Elves."

"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli, who stood close by the wizard's side, peering at the stone with fascination, for he could see the hand of his people hidden within the seemingly natural rock-face.

"I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," said Legolas, who stood upon the roots of one of the trees, a hand on its trunk as though listening to its voice.

"I have heard both," Fuingwae said without looking at them. "And I have also heard that it was neither. I doubt there is anyone who can be trusted to give an even judgement. Much has been lost as the races grow ever farther apart. If your folk cannot set aside a foolish argument when the cause is lost to time, then I say the blame is evenly shared!"

"Enough!" said Gandalf. "Fuingwae, bitter memories of the ages cannot be set aside lightly, no matter how much others might will it so. Legolas, Gimli, at least set your arguments aside for another time when we may have the leisure for words of the past. Keep watch! Night is at hand, and I do not trust this place." Turning back, he began brushing at the surface of the rock, and the others who gathered close, waiting, realized that there was something smoother than stone beneath his fingers.

"Ah," the wizard said in satisfaction, his face intent, " _ithildin_. It mirrors only starlight, and moonlight." Turning, the wizard looked into the sky, where the pale moon now shone, casting a silvery-blue light about the Company.

And lo! as the light fell on the space between the trees, silver veins of light began to fade into view. At first they were no more than pale gossamer-thread, so fine that they only twinkled fitfully where the Moon caught them, but steadily they grew broader and clearer, until their design could be guessed.

At the top, as high as Gandalf could reach, was an arch of interlacing letters in an Elvish character. Below, though the threads were in places blurred or broken, the outline could be seen of an anvil and a hammer surmounted by a crown with seven stars. Beneath these again were two trees, each bearing crescent moons. More clearly than all else there shone forth in the middle of the door a single star with many rays.

"Emblems of Durin, and the High Elves, and Fëanor," said Gandalf. "The letters read, ' _The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter._ ' "

"Well, what do you suppose that means?" asked Merry.

"That is plain enough," said Gimli.

"Indeed," agreed Gandalf. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

"Then speak the words, and let us go," said Frodo. "I do not trust this lake. It frightens me, somehow."

"I do not know the word… yet," said the wizard. "When last I walked Moria, I passed through in the other direction. These doors open outward, and can be pushed free with the hands of a single person."

"What are you going to do then?" asked Pippin, undaunted by the wizard's bristling brows.

"Knock on the doors with your head, Peregrin Took," said Gandalf. "But if that does not shatter them and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will seek for the opening words, for I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or Men or Orcs that was ever used for such a purpose."

He stepped up to the rock again, and set his staff against the silver star in the middle beneath the sign of the anvil.

" _Annon edhellen, edro hi amen!  
Fennas nogothrim, last beth lammen!_ "

Yet the blank grey stone did not stir. Many times he repeated these words in different order, or varied them. Then he tried other spells, one after another, speaking now faster and louder, now soft and slow. The cliff towered into the night, the countless stars were kindled, the wind blew cold, and the doors stood fast.

As Gandalf spoke at the door, the rest of the Fellowship made ready to enter the Mines, though their hearts were troubled. Sam especially was torn, for here they parted with Bill.

"The mines are no place for a pony, Sam," said Aragorn as he removed the last of the packs. "Even one so brave as Bill."

"Bill would've followed Mr. Frodo into a dragon's den, if I asked it of him," Sam said stubbornly, even as he removed the halter. "Oh, but you're right, Strider, you're right, it's just I hate to part with him now, with wolves and maybe worse about. Buh-bye, Bill."

As the pony turned and began to walk away along the rocks, Aragorn said, "Don't worry about Bill, Sam. He knows the way home."

A great splash in the lake made them jump, and Aragorn turned sharply. Pippin and Boromir had been speaking, and their conversation had turned to the lake.

"How I hate this foul pool!" the Man said. "Either we make for the Gap of Rohan, or enter the Mines. I care not for this waiting by the shore!"

"It's just water, Boromir," Pippin replied. "It's just dark because of the cliff's shadow, that's all. We play skipping stones at lakes like this all the time, back home." And lifting a stone, he flung it out over the water.

Pippin lifted another one, but Aragorn caught his arm. "Do not disturb the water," the Ranger warned, and something in his tone quite frightened Pippin, who set the stone down and did not seek another.

Gandalf sighed in frustration and cast his staff to the ground. "Oh, it's useless," he sighed, sitting on the roots of a holly tree next to Frodo before the door. Frodo turned to study the door, for he found watching the ripples on the lake disturbing, as they seemed to be increasing rather than tapering away. Memories were running through his mind, tales told by an old hobbit of another dark place, by another dark lake.

Frodo rose suddenly and peered at the door, studying the strange characters though he could not understand them, for a sudden thought had occurred to him. "It's a riddle!" he said in sudden understanding. "Speak, friend… and enter…" As a disturbance on the surface of the lake drew the eyes of the others in their company, he glanced aside at Gandalf. "What's the elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf looked at him curiously, and replied, " _Mellon_."

The star shone out briefly and faded again. Then with a grinding sound a split appeared in the center of the markings and a great doorway became outlined on the wall, though no joint or crack had been visible before. Slowly the doors swung outwards, inch by inch, until at last they lay flat against the wall. The company gathered about, staring in wonder.

"Of course," Gandalf said as though bemused. "Speak _friend_ , and enter; absurdly simple. Those were happier times." Reaching down he lifted a stone from the bank and set it into the twist of his staff. As he brushed lightly, the stone became white, then clear, and it was as though a remnant of the moonlight gathered within it and grew, until at last a pale, steady light came forth from the stone. Holding this light aloft, Gandalf led the Company inward. From the darkness of the first room he thought he saw a staircase rising into darkness, but spindly, shadowy shapes were scattered about it, and the wizard felt a growing chill in his heart.

The others of the company also seemed ill at ease, though whether by premonition or simple wariness the wizard could not tell; all save Gimli, who walked with an eager bounce in his step. Whether the dwarf simply did not feel the dread or he was too deep in his contemplations to think on it, Gimli alone seemed in high spirits.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the feeble hospitality of the Dwarves!" he predicted, and his voice was merry. "Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone!" He swept out an arm in a grandiose gesture towards the waiting darkness. "This, my friends, is the home of my people, and they call it a mine. A _mine_!" he repeated, almost laughing, as though such a simple word had no power to convey the wonder of the Dwarven homes.

It was Boromir who spoke the minds of the others, and his voice was urgent and hushed with dread. "This is no mine… it's a _tomb_."

The light of Gandalf's staff illuminated the dark shapes in merciless detail: skeletons, armed and armored with crude, rough mail and weaponry. Yet Gimli cried out in shock and denial, for among the sprawled remains were bones of a thicker make and greater heft, clad in strong mail with shattered axes about them, many pierced through with arrows. "No!" he cried, leaping to one such skeleton crumpled against a wall, an arrow through its eye. " _No_!"

Legolas crouched and roughly pulled a broken arrow loose from another set of dwarven remains. It was black and heavy, and the point was bitterly barbed and grime-covered. "Goblins!" he hissed, and casting the arrow aside drew one of his own and set it to his bow. Near him, the Humans drew their blades, for a sense of imminent danger was upon them.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir said quietly, and none argued with his words. "We should never have come here." He raised his voice in an urgent shout. "Now get out – _GET OUT!_ "

The hobbits began to back away, and their eyes were scanning the shadows about them with dread. Pippin stumbled on a pile of bones and almost fell, and the hobbits paused for a moment to steady him.

Then Frodo screamed and fell to the ground, for something had caught hold of his ankle and was pulling him backward. The others turned and cried out in alarm, for from the lake had slithered a long, sinuous tentacle, and the waters seethed as though a swarm of snakes was gathering from the far end. Frodo was being dragged into the lake.

The hobbits shouted and ran after him, drawing their blades. "Strider!" Sam shouted, as he cut the clinging tentacle away. The clutching thing retreated into the water, and for a brief moment all was silent and still.

Then the waters boiled, and a swarm of tendrils rose from the waters. They reached for the hobbits and struck Sam, Merry and Pippin away; two grabbed Frodo and lifted him into the air to dangle above the water as other tentacles reached for him as well.

The other members of the Fellowship rushed from the entrance. Without hesitation the Humans charged forward. Legolas raised his bow and fired as a tentacle moved about Frodo's head; the arrow plunged home and the tendril writhed wildly before falling beneath the water. As though led by one mind, the arms retreated from the shore, carrying Frodo still dangling in the air with them. The water beneath him seemed to explode as a great and terrible shape came forth.

What manner of thing the creature in the lake was, none knew, for it was an ancient creature that dwelt in the deeps and only rose to the surface for prey. Its great maw yawned wide open beneath Frodo, who cried in fear and struggled against the arms which held him aloft.

"Frodo!" cried Aragorn, and the Ranger swung Andúril fiercely, severing one of the arms. The creature screamed and thrashed, and more arms reached out to seize at Aragorn and Boromir as they waded into the water; but Fuingwae moved to protect the men, warding away the tentacles with dagger and sword. Aragorn lunged forward and cut at one of the arms clutching Frodo; Boromir followed, beating away another, and Frodo was suddenly flung into the air as for a moment the creature retreated, to be caught in Aragorn's arms.

"Into the gateway and up the stairs! Quickly!" Gandalf cried, and the company leapt for the great doors, but the creature in the water was not to be so easily eluded, and again the swarm of arms came for them.

"Its eye!" Boromir shouted, running for the door. "Shoot its eye!" Legolas leveled his bow and stood steady for a moment, heedless of the reaching arms, and released another arrow. The creature screamed again and fell back, and the Company ran into the darkness. Behind them, many coiling arms reached out once more, and though they failed to grasp one of the Fellowship, they seized the doors on either side, and with horrible strength, swung them round. There was a shattering echo, and such force was used that the doors came loose and the ceiling above rumbled, and great stones began to fall downwards in a thunderous collapse. The Fellowship had but moments to turn and look back; then the last of the wall collapsed, and all light was lost.

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Five

"We now have but one choice," said Gandalf, and he struck the ground with his staff and rekindled the light. "We must now face the long dark of Moria." He began to walk, slowly, up the stairs, looking carefully at each Company member to ascertain that though shaken they were unhurt. "Be on your guard," he warned. "There are older, and fouler, things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Boromir muttered under his breath, but the echoing stone magnified the sound to a hoarse whisper that all could hear: "In the deep places of the world! And thither we are going against my wish. Who will lead us now in this deadly dark?"

"I will," said Gandalf, "and Gimli shall walk with me. Quietly! Let us hope that our presence will go unnoticed."

"And let us hope," added Fuingwae, "that any foe within these Mines shall not come seeking a cause for the collapse of the western door."

Two hundred steps they climbed, broad and shallow, until at last they reached an arched passage leading off into the darkness. There they paused, to eat briefly and take stock of what gear they yet possessed, for in the mad rush at the gate many things had been left behind.

"Still, we have our supplies," Gandalf said. "But we must be careful with our water. There are many pools and streams in Moria, but none are safe to drink from, and so we shall not have a chance to refill our skins and bottles till we come down into Dimrill Dale."

"How long will that be?" asked Frodo.

"I am not sure," said the wizard. "But the distance as a bird flies must be at least forty miles from one gate to the other. The trail will wind, however, and the amount of ground we must cover will be therefore substantially greater. I imagine the journey will take us four, perhaps five days."

"Now come! You are weary from the long journey to reach the Gate, yet I do not think any of us are yet prepared to rest. Let us put some distance between ourselves and the commotion at the gate."

"I think I'm good for another hour or so of light walking; now that I've had a bit of rest and supped, that is!" said Pippin. "I think a nice after-dinner stroll would do us well, don't you, Merry? Gandalf can take us about to see the sights!"

Merry sighed in exasperation, yet Gandalf laughed. "Very well, Master Peregrin," he said, "we shall have an 'evening stroll,' as you put it, and put some miles behind us yet before we rest. Follow the light of my staff."

It was fortunate for the Company that they had such a guide as Gandalf, however, for they had no torches or lanterns, and could only see by the dim light of his staff, which he bore in his left hand. In his right, when their path was level, he carried Glamdring, and Frodo carried Sting. The Company watched these two blades closely, for they had been forged in ancient times in the city of Gondolin, and blazed with cold light to warn of approaching orcs and goblins. For now, the weapons were dark; yet none of the company had forgotten the bones and weapons at the gate, and they walked in a state of constant awareness.

Yet the way was not always smooth, and many times Gandalf was forced to sheathe the sword in order to scale a steep set of stairs, as the others were also forced to set aside their weapons. Many times the Company passed the scattered bones of the dead, or sites of pillage where great chests or vaults had been broken open; now the only treasures they held were darkness, dust, and the remains of the fallen. At times they passed along high trails in vast, echoing caverns of rough-hewn stone, the openings of great shafts leading ever deeper into the earth; yet they remained on the trail and passed these by, following their guide.

The Company walked in silence, and spoke little; when they did put thoughts into words, they spoke only in hushed whispers, though in the eternal weight of the silence these whispers fell shockingly loud on the companions' ears. The silence and darkness gathered about them like a physical force.

Frodo found that his sense of dread from the gate had not yet faded, and he seemed to sense evil both behind and before them; still he said nothing, for there was little that the Company could do save press on and trust that their luck would hold and they would meet no more foul things. The lingering effects of the sword-thrust that had nearly felled him ere he came to Rivendell remained; Frodo found that his senses were sharper, and he was more aware of things that could not be seen. He also seemed to see in the darkness better than any of his companions save perhaps Gandalf.

Between the occasional furtive whispers, there was no sound save that of their own feet; the dull stomp of Gimli's dwarven-boots; the heavy tread of Boromir; the faintest whisper of the light step of Legolas; the soft, scare-heard patter of hobbit feet; the steady steps of Fuingwae; and in the rear the slow firm footfalls of Aragorn with his long stride. When they halted for a moment they heard nothing at all, unless it were occasionally a faint and far-off trickle of water.

Yet Frodo began to hear, or imagine he heard, something else; like the faint fall of bare feet. It was soft and furtive, and never loud enough or near enough for Frodo to be sure he heard it, or to ask his companions if they also sensed it. Once it started it never stopped while the Company was moving; yet it was not an echo, for when they halted it pattered on for a little all by itself, and then grew still.

Gandalf walked in the lead, and at his side went Gimli, though in truth the dwarf was of little help, save for his staunch spirit; the darkness of the mines did not oppress him as it did the others of the Fellowship. The Mines of Moria were intricate beyond the imagination of Gimli, dwarf of mountain halls though he was. Though at some crossroads Gandalf would pause for a whispered consultation, in the end it was ever the wizard who made the final decision, and though at times he would pause long to study the passage, never did he lead them backwards; when he made his choice he led them confidently and surely forward. The way was not always secure; in places the stone of the floor had crumbled away, leaving gaps that the Company was forced to leap across. One such place was seven feet wide, and it took the Hobbits many long minutes to steel themselves for the attempt.

"Rope!" muttered Sam. "I knew I'd want it, if I hadn't got it!"

Yet at length they came to another choice; the passage divided in three, and each led in a different direction. Here Gandalf paused long, looking closely for some defining mark on the entrance arches, yet there was none to be found. At length the wizard sighed, and he seemed deeply weary.

"I… have no memory of this place," he admitted at length. Turning, he looked on the Company, yet none had the energy to despair at his words, for it was after nightfall when they entered the Mines, and they had walked for several hours since with only brief halts. Even Gimli was weary. "I am too weary to decide now," he said at last. "Let us rest here, and make the decision come morning – or as near as we may guess in this place. We shall have to lay camp on the landing, for there is no better place."

The Company set watches and laid down to find what sleep they could, for they had had little rest the night of the wolf attack and had traveled hard that day before coming to the Mines. Yet nothing happened during their long rest, and they awakened ready to continue. But Gandalf had not yet reached a decision on their course, and so they waited as he sat and studied the three passages, Frodo by his side.

"Are we lost?" Pippin whispered, and when Merry only shushed him continued, "I think we're lost."

"No thinking, Peregrin Took," Merry said. "Whenever you attempt to think, trouble will inevitably follow."

Pippin was silent for a moment. "Merry?" he said at last.

"What?" asked Merry peevishly.

"I'm hungry."

Frodo found himself smiling, and thinking back he realized that he had not smiled in some time. "They are stout folk, your friends," Gandalf said, and Frodo turned to meet the wizard's kind gaze. "I would not have chosen this path for them, but for our sakes I am glad they chose to come, for they remind we who are counted among the Wise that there are yet more things in life than great deeds, prophecies and grim tidings. I think that is why I have always loved the Shire, for there life is peaceful and simple, and things are put in proper perspective."

"I miss the Shire," Frodo said at last. "It is strange… when I was young, all I could think about was going away – to be with Bilbo, on one of his great adventures. But my own adventure turned out to be quite different." He looked away suddenly, a terrible, invisible burden suddenly pressing down on him. "I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said suddenly. "I wish none of this had ever happened…"

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," said Gandalf, in a voice of compassion. His bright eyes were kind even under the shadow of his craggy brows, and he continued, "All we can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us."

Frodo looked aside, and his eyes were turned inward in contemplation; yet he did not have time to think upon the wizard's words, for suddenly Gandalf straightened. "Ah!" he said, and smiled with relief at Frodo. "It's that way," he said, nodding to the rightward door.

"He's remembered!" Merry cried in relief, springing to his feet.

"No," said Gandalf, "but the air doesn't smell so foul this way. Besides, I do not like the feel of the middle path, and the left-hand way has bad air that I do not trust. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

For eight dark hours they marched on; and they met no danger, and heard nothing, and saw nothing but the faint gleam of the wizard's light, bobbing like a will-o'-the-wisp before them. The passage they had chosen wound steadily upwards. As far as they could judge it went in great mounting curves, and as it rose it grew loftier and wider, and side passages began to grow fewer. The floor was level and sound, without pits or cracks. Evidently they had struck what once had been an important road, and they went forward quicker than they had done in their first march.

As the road climbed upwards, Frodo's spirits rose a little; but he still felt oppressed, and still at times he heard, or thought he heard, away behind the Company and beyond the fall and patter of their feet, a following footstep that was not an echo, and it haunted him. When they set camp again he found sleep elusive, and unrestful once he achieved it, for it was a sleep of nightmares full of endless halls and grasping shadows, and he was relieved when the time came to continue their march.

They marched as far as they could bear that next day, yet in the endless darkness and thousands of unending halls that seemed much the same no matter which way one turned it felt to the Company as though they had simply traveled a short distance, or perhaps circled back in an endless loop from a nightmare, and it was only their faith in their guide that kept the Company from despairing. Even Gimli's spirits began to sink, for though he had long desired to look upon Moria and the halls of his ancestors he had no desire to remain, for they had become dark and grim, and full of predatory shadows.

At last their march ended and they made camp in a vaulted hall, weary beyond measure, for Frodo was not alone in failing to find peaceful rest. All about them as they lay hung the darkness, hollow and immense, and they were oppressed by the loneliness and vastness of the dolven halls and endlessly branching stairs and passages. The wildest imaginings that dark rumour had ever suggested to the hobbits fell altogether short of the actual dread and wonder of Moria.

"There must have been a mighty crowd of dwarves here at one time," said Sam, "and every one of them busier than badgers to make all of this, and most in hard rock too! What did they do it all for? They didn't live in these darksome holes surely?"

"There are not holes," said Gimli. "This is the great realm of Khazad-dûm, and of old it was not darksome, but full of light and splendour. So it is still remembered in our songs, though it had fallen into shadow now."

"But why?" asked Pippin. "And when? Why, Moria's been a name for spooks in the Shire since we Hobbits can remember, and we remember a respectable way back, thank you!"

Gimli was silent for a long moment and it seemed that he would not reply; yet at length he said, "We came in the Elder Days, before then end of Gondolin; led here by Durin the Deathless; and we made this place fair beyond any dreams to look on. Weariness was not a word to our kind then, and unceasingly we shaped and wrought the metals and gems. But now we are here no longer."

For a long moment he fell silent once more. Then he began to chant in a deep vice, while the echoes ran away into the roof.

" _The world is grey, the mountains old.  
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;  
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls;  
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls  
The shadow lies upon his tomb  
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.  
But still the sunken stars appear  
In dark and windless Mirrormere;  
There lies his crown in water deep.  
Till Durin wakes again from sleep._ "

"I like that!" said Sam. "I should like to learn the entire thing, if there is time, for it sounds like the ending of a long tale. It has a proper rhythm to it. _In Moria, in Khazad-dûm!_ But all this talk of stars and light makes the darkness seem a bit heavier. I wonder, are there piles of jewels and gold lying about here still?"

Gimli was silent. Having sung his song he would say no more.

"No," said Gandalf. "The Mines have been plundered many times; you have seen the shattered vaults and chests. And since the dwarves fled, no one dares to seek the shafts and treasuries down in the deep places; they are drowned in water – or in a shadow of fear.

"No – dwarves have but one reason to return here, separate from their memories and their desire to reclaim their lost homes. _Mithril_. The wealth of Moria was not in gold and jewels, the toys of the Dwarves; nor in iron, their servant. Such things they found here, it is true, especially iron; but they did not need to delve for them. Whatever they desired they could find in trade; for here alone in the world was found Moria-silver, or true-silver as some have called it; _mithril_ is the Elvish name. Its worth was many times that of gold, and now it is beyond price, for little is left above ground, and here even the Orcs dare not delve for it. Yet as _mithril_ was the foundation of the wealth of the Dwarves, so was it their destruction. The Dwarves delved too greedily and too deep, and disturbed that from which they fled, Durin's Bane. Of what _mithril_ they brought to light, the Orcs have gathered nearly all, and given it in tribute to Sauron, who covets it.

" _Mithril_. It could be beaten like copper and polished like glass; and the Dwarves could make of it a metal, as light as a feather and as hard as a dragon's scales. Bilbo had a corslet of mithril-rings that Thorin gave him. I wonder what has become of it."

"What?" cried Gimli, startled out of his silence. "A corslet of Moria-silver? That was a kingly gift!"

"Yes," said Gandalf. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the whole Shire and everything in it."

Frodo reached beneath his shirt, wondering. Had Bilbo known of this great value when he gave the gift, shortly before Frodo journeyed forth from Rivendell? Somehow, Frodo suspected that the old hobbit had known quite well.

Yet Frodo still wished he was back at Bag End, and that he had never heard of Moria, or _mithril_ – or the Ring.

A deep silence fell. One by one, the companions fell asleep, until only Frodo, who was on guard, remained awake. As if it were a breath that came in through unseen doors out of deep places, dread came over him. His hands were cold and his brow damp. He listened. All his mind was given to listening and nothing else for two slow hours, but he heard no sound, not even the imagined echo of a footfall.

His watch was nearly over, when, far off where he guessed the exit of the chamber stood, he fancied that he could see two pale points of light – almost like luminous eyes.

He started. His head had nodded. "I must have nearly fallen asleep," he told himself, "I was on the edge of a dream." Yet he found he could not believe such a simple explanation, and the dread remained in him. To ward away any more unpleasant dreams, he rose and rubbed his eyes, staring intently into the darkness. There he remained, until he was relieved from guard by Legolas.

Aragorn relieved Legolas from guard after some hours, yet the Elf did not return to sleep immediately, instead standing watch with the Ranger in silence. At length Aragorn looked to him. "Take your rest," he said. "I feel that tomorrow will be the most telling on our endurance."

"I shall not find rest until we are gone from these caverns," Legolas replied. "There is no air here. I cannot fathom what manner of creatures Dwarves might be, that they consider living surrounded by lifeless stone to be a state of comfort."

"They are creatures of endurance," replied Aragorn, "and they seek to create things that will last for a great time, like the stones themselves. Judge them not until you have seen Dwarven halls in their full glory, and not just this shattered and corrupted remnant." The Ranger looked penetratingly at the Elf. "Dwarves value beauty; they devote their lives to the act of taking a crude base and shaping it into something of wonder, by the skill of their hands."

"And so they have little respect for the natural wonder intrinsic in all things?" Legolas asked, and his tone was disbelieving. "That stone may be a thing of beauty I understand. Yet the Dwarvish race is defined by a constant desire to shape and mold, rather than simply enhance that which already is present. It is little wonder that our kin do not deal well; our minds simply do not understand each other."

"Perhaps," replied Aragorn, "and yet consider Moria and its western gate; for that door was the crafting of both Elf and Dwarf, working in fellowship. That friendship was lost, and there is no other door like the Gate. A pity; the world could use more of such emblems, symbols of peace and friendship rather than war and enmity. As the races drift apart, much of what was and what might have been is lost."

Legolas was silent for several long moments, ere he spoke again. "Your words echo those of Fuingwae at the Gate."

"Fuingwae knew of what she spoke. Though she is _dúnadan_ like myself, she has no family to call her own and no lineage, save that of her adoptive fathers. One amongst them was a scholar of ancient times, who taught her much of lore. She has walked in cities of Men, Dwarven halls and Elven homes, and knows much of each."

Legolas looked over towards Fuingwae curiously; she lay as though peacefully asleep, and yet her hand clutched an unsheathed dagger in readiness for attack. "I know little of mortal beings," the Elf said, "for I have spent my life in Mirkwood, save for occasional short journeys. Are such as yourself and Fuingwae common among the race of Men? And what of Boromir?"

"Of Boromir, I cannot answer, save that he is the scion of an ancient and proud line who bears many of both the strengths and weaknesses of men," answered the Ranger. "Of myself, too, I cannot answer, for I do not know how you see me; but I am also the heir of an ancient and proud race, and the bearer of both their hope and their doom. But of Fuingwae, I do not think you would find another of her like in Middle-Earth, for she is in many ways a creature solely of her own kind, who stands somewhere between all the others."

"Such could be said of many in this company," replied Legolas, "and you are not the least of them. But what of the Halflings, then? Are they, too, creatures set apart from their kin?"

Aragorn paused and thought long before he replied. "The hobbits are… Hobbits, and though I know that such is a poor way to describe them there are few other words that suit. They are seemingly simple, but stouthearted and merry, and more resilient than even the greatest of Men at need. Do not let their small size and light-hearted manner deceive you, as I once did. There are few better to ask for as friends to stand at one's side in troubled times."

"And such is our Company," said the Elf. "I do not know if we could have formed a stranger band if we had set out to do so."

"And perhaps it is that which will give us a chance to succeed in our task," said Aragorn.

Frodo awakened to whispers, and opening his eyes found the Fellowship gathered together in consultation.

"Well!" said Gandalf, when Frodo sat up, rubbing his eyes. "We have made good time. I recognize where we are, now; I did not lead us astray at the crossing, as I had almost feared. We are high up on the east side of Moria. Before today is over we ought to find the Great Gates and see the waters of Mirrormere lying in the Dimrill Dale before us.

"I shall be glad," said Gimli. "I desired to look on Moria, and so I have. It is very great, but it has become dark and dreadful. It is a kingdom for shadows and memories now. Let it rest undisturbed."

Soon after leaving the chamber their path began to descend again. All were eager to find the eastern door and escape the haunted shadows and fearsome echoes of Moria; especially Frodo, for even in sleep he had found that he could not forget the pale lights he had seen or dreamt, and still at times he still heard – or fancied he heard – the patter of lightly slapping feet that could not be an echo.

The Company left the great thoroughfare that they had followed before and for a time walked once again down narrow, winding ways full of treacherous turns and baffling crossroads. Yet Gandalf led them onwards with confidence.

At length they passed through an arched doorway into a black and empty space. There was a great draught of warmer air behind them, and before them the darkness was cold on their faces. Halting briefly, they crowded anxiously together; yet Gandalf smiled, and seemed pleased.

"Let me risk a little real light," he said, and lifted his staff.

For a few brief moments there was a bright flare of light, and the Company saw a vast roof far above them, carven with images and characters into intricate patterns of stone. The great vault was upheld by many mighty pillars hewn of stone, and the great black walls, polished as smooth as glass, flashed and glittered. Here ruin had not wholly taken the grandeur of ages past, and the Company was silent with wonder. 

"Behold," said Gandalf. "The great Dwarven city of Dwarrowdelf."

Sam simply blinked and murmured, "Now _that's_ an eye-opener, and no mistake."

Then the light of the staff dimmed once more, and the Fellowship walked together down the great hall, staring in wonder at the ancient relics of bygone glory that rose looming from the shadows as they passed. Yet Gimli, who looked to the walls more than the carvings, suddenly cried out and turned, for he had seen a dim light reflected from the stones which came not from Gandalf's staff. He ran forwards, heedless of any danger or Gandalf's cry of surprise. The Company followed, and they came to a great pair of oaken doors that stood ajar; beyond them was a chamber dimly lit by a long shaft, and yet after the darkness of the mines their eyes were dazzled by the light. It was high and flat-topped, and there was a tier of stone about the edge, once whole but now broken into lone sectors of stone still accessible by stairs; great columns supported the ceiling.

"No…" said Gimli in a voice chocked with dismay, and Frodo saw the Dwarf fall to his knees before a table of stone perhaps two feet high; upon it was set a block of white stone quite different from the darker rock which surrounded them. The shaft of light fell directly upon it. Gimli's shoulders shook with sorrow, and he rested his helmed head against the stone.

Their feet disturbed a deep dust upon the floor, and beneath it were shapes they could not immediately make out. Gandalf moved forward to look on the stone, and found runes graven upon the surface. He looked closely on them, and pain marked his face. " _Balin, son of Fundin_ ," he read. " _Lord of Moria_."

"He is dead, then," Frodo whispered. "I feared it was so." Gimli did not speak.

The Company stood in silence for many long moments; yet at length, they stirred, and casting about searched for signs that might tell them what became of Balin and his folk. The signs were bitter; a great battle had been fought in the chamber, for the bones of the dead beneath the dust were piled high. A skeleton sat in grotesque mockery of life upon the edge of a circular well, pierced through by black arrows and given a chilling illusion of flesh by cobwebs; many others lay scattered about.

Resting against the side of the tomb was another skeleton, clad in rent mail and pierced by many blades; in its bony arms it yet clutched something; a heavy book, though it had been slashed and burned, and blood had stained the pages. Handing his staff and hat to Pippin, Gandalf bent and carefully moved the bony hand. He lifted the book, though its binding cracked and pages slid out in a cloud of dirt and dust, and held it in his arms, brushing the dust from the cover.

Legolas looked to Aragorn and spoke in an urgent whisper. "We must move on; we dare not linger here." Yet Aragorn shook his head, for Gandalf had begun to read aloud.

" ' _We cannot get out_ ,' " he read. " ' _They have taken the Bridge and the second hall._ ' " Boromir moved to Gimli's side and placed a supportive hand upon the Dwarf's shoulder, for Gimli seemed locked in shocked sorrow.

" ' _We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long_ ,' " Gandalf continued. " ' _We cannot get out. Drums – drums in the deep. A shadow moves in the darkness._ ' " Turning the page, he found only a few scrawled words. " ' _We cannot get out._

" ' _They are coming._ ' "

Suffocating and heavy, silence fell once again around the company, for all found themselves straining their ears, and searching the shadows for hidden attackers lying in wait.

Unconsciously backing away, Pippin stumbled over a bone beneath the dust, and the skeleton upon the well caught his eye. Reaching out with a curious hand, he lightly touched the arrow in its breast. Finding that it moved easily, he twisted it; and the head, disturbed at last from its precarious balance, tumbled backwards from the body. It fell down the well, bouncing off the walls with a strangely dull and hollow sound, and the entire Company started with alarm and turned to look.

Pippin backed away quickly, yet the damage had been done, and in the next moment the remainder of the bones slid into the well, dragging the chain and bucket behind them with a terrible racket as the long-dead sentry sounded a final alarm. Pippin flinched at each and every crash as bones and bucket thundered against stone walls; the clamor seemed to carry throughout the entire mine. At length the sounds seemed to end, and then a final crash sounded, louder than any before it.

Pippin winced.

The company stood frozen, and none even breathed, for the shock of surprise had given away to terror; terror of discovery, and of disturbing things better left at peace. Yet moments stretched into minutes, and still nothing happened. At length they began to relax, sighing and closing their eyes with relief.

Gandalf closed the book with a dull thud. "Fool of a Took!" he snapped in a low voice, his eyes angry and sharp. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Snatching back his staff and hat from Pippin, he turned to go.

Pippin opened his mouth as though to speak, yet whatever thoughts he may have sought to voice were lost, for at that moment a low, dull sound rumbled through the stone about them, distant and yet terribly, terribly near. _Doom_. Then again, and this time it repeated, and the sound was drawing nearer. _Doom, doom_ , as if huge hands were turning the very caverns of Moria into a vast drum.

And faint at first but with terrifying speed growing louder came the rush of harsh-clad feet and the hoarse shout of cruel voices. _DOOM, DOOM_ rolled the drums in the deep.

Sam's eyes widened. "Frodo, your sword…"

Frodo paled and slid the blade an inch or so from the sheath, for he had put it aside when they had entered the chamber. The blade shone with a pale blue light strong enough to cast shadows.

"Orcs!" Legolas cried.

Boromir leapt past the others to the doors; yet he had barely reached them and leaned forth to look out when he recoiled with a cry; two heavy black arrows struck the door bare inches in front of him. Bolstered by the strength and speed of desperation, he pushed the doors closed and leaned against them. In a voice that almost seemed wry, he simply said, "They have a cave-troll."

Legolas snatched up a halberd and tossed it to the Man, who caught it and slammed it down where the locking bar of the door had once been. Aragorn moved to aid him as Gandalf swept Glamdring free. Like Sting, the blade glimmered palely with light that was not reflected.

"Get behind Gandalf!" Fuingwae cried to the Hobbits, who hurried to comply, drawing their blades. Frodo's hands were unsteady upon Sting, and the glowing blade quavered and left a strange after-image from his trembling.

The door was braced; Boromir and Aragorn withdrew to join Legolas, who stood before the tomb, bow held steady in his hands and aimed upon the doorway. Aragorn and Fuingwae both likewise readied bows, while Boromir drew his sword and stood waiting to the side.

Gimli leapt up upon the tombstone. "Let them come!" he snarled, and a fierce gleam was in his eyes. "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

To Frodo the moments seemed to crawl by into infinity. All were silent in the Company, weapons readied; now all that they could do was wait. The archers stood as statues, motionless, while Boromir and Gimli shifted impatiently. Behind the line of fighters waited Gandalf and the Hobbits, breathless and taut with fear.

The clamor of harsh Orcish voices beyond the doors was deafening. Then the doors began to shudder as the clamor was joined by the hard thudding of axes and rams upon the wood. The drums continued to beat. _DOOM, DOOM_!

Suddenly a spear broke through an area where the wood had already splintered, tearing out still more as others followed. Legolas loosed his arrow; it struck something through the hole that cried out in pain like the squeal of a pig. Aragorn and Fuingwae also fired as Legolas drew a second arrow; yet no sooner had they released their bowstrings than the door gave way at last, falling free of its hinges. Like a hideous wave the orcs swarmed within, and chaos filled the chamber.

Legolas shot an orc in the forehead, and the falling body broke some of the force of the initial charge. Boromir roared a battle cry and leapt forwards to meet the orcs as Aragorn and Fuingwae dropped their bows and drew their blades to aid him. Legolas moved back and sideways as he sent another arrow singing into the gathered orcs, spreading the attack out. Boromir struck an orc down; Aragorn wounded another and left it for Fuingwae to finish off as he struck another that bore a bow.

Gandalf shouted and charged in; behind him the Hobbits likewise raised their blades and attacked, for they knew that in this battle all must fight if any were to survive. The orcs fell back before the light of Glamdring, yet they did not flee, and before Frodo knew what was happening he was surrounded, and he could no longer see the wizard. To his side, Pippin suddenly shouted and darted forwards beneath the swing of a scimitar and slashed wildly at his attacker, cutting open the orc's belly and pushing it away towards the oncoming rush in an effort to slow any more attackers for a time, however brief. Merry blocked another orc's blade with his own, and though he was thrown back by the force of the blow, the orc had not expected such a small opponent, and it had not guarded itself against a low-aimed counterattack. Merry thrust his blade into its side, tearing the weapon loose in time to dodge another blow.

Aragorn ducked beneath an attack and with a blow freed the head of the orc from its shoulders as Boromir cut down another that had moved to strike the Ranger's back. Gimli, who yet stood high upon Balin's tomb, laughed as he cut down every orc fool enough to come within the range of his mighty axe; Fuingwae fought beside Gandalf as the wizard used blade and staff alike to strike down attackers. Legolas had moved to the edge of the chamber and stood at the base of a stair, where he need not fear attack from behind.

Sam was aware of little but terror, but his body moved, dodged, ducked and struck with the skills that Boromir and the others had drilled into him and his friends over the long march; yet suddenly he found himself standing alone before the fallen doors, for the orcs had withdrawn from that area, and a strange stillness grew in his heart, a stillness of determination and fear intermingled. Then there was a thunderous explosion of shattered stone as the wall crumbled inward, powerless against the might of the great cave-troll.

The beast was hideous grey; its face was malformed and misshapen and its limbs ungainly, long in the arms and stunted in the legs; yet it was terribly strong and bore a massive metal weight torn from some apparatus as a club, and there was a vicious light in its tiny eyes. Before it even the orcs feared to go, for the cave-troll cared not what it struck, be it friend or foe, in the height of its violence. Even the orc that led it by the chain attached to the crude metal band about its neck did not linger long, but fled in terror once the troll sighted the Company.

Sam had no time to think, for the great beast reared up and brought the massive club down upon him; yet he was not there when the blow landed, for Sam instead reacted on instinct and dove forwards through the beast's spread legs, skidding across on his belly and scrambling to his feet to get away before the troll turned to seek him out. The beast began to search for him, yet its attention was drawn elsewhere, for Gimli had snatched up an extra axe when he climbed upon the tomb; now he flung the weapon at the troll. It lodged upon the troll's chest; though it seemed to do little damage the blow must have caused the troll pain, for it flinched back for a moment, then turned upon the Dwarf.

Sam found himself once again standing near Frodo, yet he was weaponless, for in his escape from the troll he had dropped his blade, and he had not the time to reclaim it, for the orcs were gathering again to attack. Instead, he caught Frodo by the shoulder and they hurried together to join Merry and Pippin in hiding in the shadow of a great column near a stair.

The troll attempted to smash Gimli to the stone; Gimli leapt aside, and the great cudgel instead shattered the white stone over Balin's tomb into a cloud of rock dust. Gimli retreated, for doughty warrior though he was, to fight a troll within reach of its arms was sheerest folly. The troll again attempted to smash him, yet instead it only succeeded in slaying an orc that had foolishly rushed forward to strike the Dwarf's back. Yet Gimli was delayed by another orc, and slew it only to see the troll once again attacking. He had no choice but to fall to the ground, and once again the blow struck another orc. Yet now he was flat upon the ground and defenseless as the troll raised its cudgel yet again.

Legolas however had reached a clear space upon the walkway about the room and perceived the danger. From his quiver he drew forth two arrows and set them both to his bow, for he knew that he must divert the troll's rage. He fired, and the arrows flew true and buried deep in the troll's chest and side. With a moaning roar the troll turned its attention to this new opponent, and Gimli scrambled back to his feet and immediately engaged the orcs in combat once more.

For a moment, Legolas concentrated on the orcs that had followed him upon the walkway. In his hand was his white dagger, and he wielded it with fearful skill, for Mirkwood was yet a land of peril, and none who lived there lived in ignorance of the ways of battle. He cut down what orcs came to attack him; yet the flow soon ended, for at the foot of the stairs Fuingwae fought, allowing the archer room to use his bow. Yet Legolas had no time to do so, for the troll had seen him.

Chain whistled in the air as the troll employed the very chain that bound it as a weapon, whipping it sideways, and the Elf ducked beneath the lethal metal and ignored the shower of stone dust as the chain left a great gouge in the wall. Yet Legolas remained upon the walkway in plain sight of the troll and did not retreat; instead he waited, eyes alert for anything that might aid him against this deadly foe. The troll swung again, and Legolas moved lightly away from it; the chain cut downward through the stone walkway and shattered a section of it. Legolas was unharmed, yet now was in dire straits, for he was on the wrong side of the new breach to reach the stairs and was trapped upon a small section of walkway next to a great pillar.

Again the troll swung; yet this time proved to be a mistake, for it had reckoned not upon the elf's surroundings, and the chain instead wrapped about the stone of the pillar and caught fast. Legolas braced a foot upon it, then dashed up along the chain. The troll roared and reached for him as the Elf found footing upon its very head; yet it reckoned not with the limitations imposed by the chain, and for a few brief moments, did not reach him. Those moments were all that Legolas required; swaying as the troll wrenched back and forth, he set an arrow to his bowstring and shot directly into the back of the troll's neck. The beast roared and wrenched back and forth in agony. Legolas nearly lost his footing ere he leapt free of the creature and its struggles.

Yet though the orcs avoided the troll and thus its chosen opponents, they redoubled their attack upon the other members of the Fellowship. Sam who had been separated from the other Hobbits reached for a weapon; his hand closed about something metal and heavy, and he desperately swung it at the face of a charging orc. The iron skillet threw the orc back, and Sam turned without hesitation and brought it down upon the back of the head of another orc that had not noticed him. Wedging himself into a corner where he went largely unnoticed and had his back protected, the gardener blinked. "I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said to himself in wonder, before turning to clobber another orc that attacked him.

The snap of overstressed metal warned the Company that the troll had freed itself, and the other Hobbits found themselves far too close to it. Hoping to go unnoticed in the tumult, they fled, running along the narrow ledge.

Yet they did not evade detection, and a thunderous crash sent them sprawling, for once again the great cudgel had come down, powdering stone beneath the force of its blow, and the Hobbits found themselves separated; Merry and Pippin stood upon one side of the sudden gap, and Frodo was trapped upon the other at a corner of the room. Merry and Pippin stumbled back before reaching the shelter of another column; yet though Frodo was hidden from the troll's sight it did not pursue the younger hobbits. Instead it grasped the column and leaned in close, forcing its face into the gap between column and wall.

Frodo was perfectly still. He could hear the groaning of the stonework; could feel the heat and smell the reek of the troll's fetid breath. He felt like a rabbit trapped by hounds without an escape route. The Ring was a terrible weight suddenly, and all he could hear was Gandalf's warning voice.

' _It_ wants _to be found_.'

A sudden shift of light and the sound of heavy movement beyond was his only warning, yet Frodo's body moved before his mind realized what had happened. He scrambled about the pillar and pressed against the stone opposite where he had hidden moments before. Everything moved too fast for him; yet he had not moved a moment too soon, for the very moment he stopped he heard the troll shove its head and arms into his former hiding place. Fingers appeared as the troll once again hauled itself as far into the tight space against the wall as it could manage; seeking, searching.

Then it moved again and Frodo edged his way to the side facing the wall; yet there he stopped, paralyzed by terror and indecision, for he knew not which way the troll might search this time.

His hesitation cost him dearly.

With a great roar the face of the troll filled his vision. Frodo screamed in terror and recoiled, yet the wall which had before guarded him now entrapped him at the troll's mercy. In desperation he tried to flee around the column yet again, for the troll could only guard one opening at a time. Yet a great fist as hard as stone closed about his ankle, and Frodo found himself once again held dangling in the air.

" _Aragorn_!" he screamed.

The Ranger struck aside his opponent and turned, eyes widening in alarm. "Frodo!" he cried, leaping forward.

In desperation Frodo struck upwards with Sting, and the blade pierced deep. There was a great bellow and Frodo was cast into the wall amidst a spray of black blood. Dazed and pained he collapsed at the base of the wall. Dimly in the back of his mind he thought he heard Bilbo saying, ' _What are you doing, Frodo my lad? Up now! Mind you, don't you go letting one of those orcs get their grubby hands on my Ring!_ '

Disoriented Frodo pushed himself up upon his hands and looked up. Yet all that met his eyes was the great troll's wrathful eyes as it reached for him. But a great shout startled it back as Aragorn leapt before it, blocking its path to Frodo. Stooping like a hawk he snatched up a great pike and drove it into the troll's chest. The troll roared in pain as its charge was halted suddenly. Yet it was not stopped for long, and suddenly rearing back with the back of its great hand it struck Aragorn away. He flew through the air to crash into the stone wall.

Then the Ranger fell limply amidst the rubble and did not move.

"Aragorn!" Frodo scrambled past the troll and did not heed it as it pulled the great pike free from its chest. Instead he came to the side of the man who lay still amidst the fallen stones and desperately shook his shoulder. He saw that Aragorn yet breathed, yet the man was unconscious from the blow. A sudden instinct warned Frodo, and he ducked down; and where his head had been a scarce moment before the great pike whistled through to imbed itself within the stone. A hail of stones flung by Merry and Pippin from their vantage upon the ruined walkway stalled the troll for a few vital moments; Frodo rolled away and came to his feet as the troll ripped the pike free and advanced upon the unconscious Man again.

Suddenly and to his own surprise, Frodo felt a hot wrath blaze up in his heart, and he snatched Sting up and stood before Aragorn. "The Shire!" he cried, and lunging forwards he slashed the blade towards the great troll, attempting to force it back.

Yet though valiant, these actions carried heavy consequences, for when maddened trolls focus solely upon one foe; and though Aragorn had caused it pain, now once again its wrath came upon the tiny pest that had harmed it before. A glancing blow sent Frodo back against the wall near where Aragorn lay yet. Frodo stuck his head against the stone; Sting fell from his lax hand and he stood dazed for a moment, trying to force thoughts, movements, anything beyond the haze of pain and a strange urge to fall to the stone floor and sleep.

And the troll thrust the pike forwards, and the blow caught Frodo upon the side and pinned him to the stone.

In the chamber beyond, Gandalf suddenly struck away his opponents and spun, too late aware of the Ringbearer's peril. From the edge of the room Sam cried out in dismay and anguish, and though he was only armed with his heavy skillet no sword would have served him better; he bashed aside any foe fool enough to come between him and his beloved Master.

Frodo's mouth moved as though gasping for air or attempting to breathe some final words; then slowly he slid down to his knees, and collapsed forward upon the stone.

Piercing cries of rage split the air; raising their blades, Merry and Pippin leapt from the stone upon the back of the great troll. Clinging like burrs they stabbed and slashed at the creature, heedless of danger or futility. Confused and pained by this sudden assault, the troll staggered back, and Gandalf and Gimli struck at it, though they could not draw close enough through its raging arms to land a telling blow against it. In fury the troll reached for the Hobbits; yet when its arms were raised Boromir landed a mighty blow against it, and only Merry was torn from its back. Raging, the troll spun the screaming Hobbit through the air, yet another blow of Boromir's blade before the Man was forced back caused the troll to drop Merry. Merry tumbled through the air, and Fuingwae dove to break his fall. The two fell stunned but unharmed against a stair.

The troll's flailings scattered the Fellowship; all save Legolas, who stood with arrow drawn and aimed, fearless of orc or troll. An orcish captain rose up behind him to strike the Elf, yet Gimli struck the beast down before it could do more than raise its blade.

Pippin suddenly released his hold upon the troll with his left hand, and clutching the great beast's neck with his legs he clasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought it down with all the strength in his body. The troll roared in pain, throwing its head back – and the arrow of Legolas sang through the air and plunged through the soft flesh of the mouth and upwards into the brain.

The troll stopped as though brought up short and raised a massive hand almost curiously to its mouth. Then its eyes fell upon Legolas and it stumbled a heavy step towards him, massive arms outstretched to grab and crush, and the Elf backed away slightly as the troll lumbered forwards. Then with a great crash the troll pitched forwards and fell, dead at last. Pippin was catapulted forwards to roll and skid to a halt, shaken and dizzy with fear and pain, and laid flat on the great stone, gasping for breath. For several long moments the Fellowship stood silently in shock, looking down at the fallen creature.

Aragorn struggled through the rubble to where Frodo's body lay, for the Ranger had regained his senses during the battle. "No…" he whispered sadly as Sam came to his side, bravely concealing a sniffle as the Ranger gently took Frodo's shoulders and turned the Hobbit around to face the light.

And lo! Frodo was gasping for breath, and his eyes opened; and though where the pike had seemingly pierced him his shirt and tunic were torn, a glimmer of silvery white showed beneath the torn cloth.

Sam felt a tear of joy run down his face as he looked up to the gathered Fellowship. "He's alive!" he said.

"Yes, I'm alright," Frodo said breathlessly, for his lungs still felt as though starved for air. "I'm not hurt…"

Aragorn looked on him in wonder. "You should be dead!" he said in shock. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

Gandalf had a slight smile on his face. "I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye," he said cryptically. Frodo looked up at him, and slid his tattered shirt collar open; and beneath it he wore mail, as finely-woven as any silk and the cool silvery-white of starlight, edged with white gems and pearl along the trim.

Gimli's eyes widened. "Mithril…" he breathed in wonder. Then his smile became amused as he looked to Frodo. "You are full of surprises, Mr. Baggins!"

"So that's what you and Mr. Bilbo were doing, Mr. Frodo sir," Sam said. "Bless the old rascal!"

Yet they were not yet free, and though one battle had been fought, it was not the last, for suddenly the drums rolled out again. _Doom, doom_. And again they heard the distant discordance of orc voices.

Gandalf turned to the others, intent once again. "To the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm!"

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Six

The Company wasted no more time, for the Mines were alerted now and the enemy drew nearer with every breath. They had but one hope: to escape the Mines in a final dash and pray that the sun yet lingered in the sky, for orcs were creatures of the dark and deathly underworlds and could not walk with ease beneath the light of the sun. Sam reclaimed his sword as the Rangers retrieved their bows; Boromir took that brief moment to snatch up a brand that had fallen from the hand of an orc, yet burning. Then they fled, though Legolas had to pull Gimli from where he stood yet grieving for just a few moments more at Balin's shattered tomb.

Through the shattered remnants of the wall they fled and into the great hall of Dwarrowdelf; their weapons were drawn and readied for battle. Gandalf led them through the great hall, his staff blazing with white light. Sting and Glamdring shone with a fierce light of their own. Past ancient, crumbling pillars and the remnants of the great kingdom long-dead they fled, heedless of exhaustion or pain, as throughout the darkness the drums continued to thunder their oppressive rhythm of doom.

And from the darkness the orcs came. Though few at first their numbers swelled as more joined the pursuit, and though Men and Elves could move at greater speed than the twisted though powerful legs of orcs the fleeter members of the Fellowship lagged, for they would not abandon Gimli or the Hobbits. Boromir and Fuingwae remained at the hindmost of the line, guarding the others, and they saw the growing host pursuing the small band swelling in numbers and hatred, growing blacker and more terrible with every moment.

The shadows stirred and gathered. From cracks in the floor and ceiling poured forth swarms of goblins; Goblins geared and taught to scramble upon wall and even ceiling like a host of four-legged spiders. Innumerable the host gathered, vicious and thirsty for the blood of the intruders. And the company was brought to bay, for the hall before them was also impassable with tens, hundreds of foes.

The Fellowship banded close together, facing in all directions; and the gathered horde simply waited, a mere three or four paces from the Company. They were an island of light in a sea of darkness, and the tide was waiting with malicious glee to sweep them under to be lost forever. Frodo found that his hand no longer shook with fear, and Sting was steady before him; for the acceptance of death had come upon him, and he was determined to sell his life dearly. Though they would perish, he was determined to ensure that when these foul creatures returned to their foul pits there would be less of them. Everything came to him in disjointed images of unsettling clarity; the startling green of slitted eyes as a Goblin crowded a little closer to hiss in dark laughter at him; the jeers that were almost intelligible in the hue and cry.

And for a few, brief moments that lasted an eternity, all was almost still.

Something shivered the stones beneath their feet; it was not thunder, it was a storm of menace and dread. Almost too low to hear there came a slow, rolling boom; it rumbled within their bones and shook their very souls. A stir went through the orcs, a stir of anticipation turned to dread and fear; and a light began to grow in the back of the great hall. Yet the Company felt no lightness of heart; this light was red and terrible, and a great fear unlike any Frodo had ever yet known began to build in his heart. This was not the fear of the Riders; this was different, and who was to say which was worse? For where the fear of the Riders was like a void, this fear was a hungry flame that destroyed rather than devoured.

Heedless of their cornered prey, the orcs scattered. Before the shocked eyes of the Fellowship the great horde turned and fled from the hall. Gimli roared after them and laughed at their retreating backs; the others watched in confusion.

Legolas slowly lowered his bow, yet his eyes were no longer on the orcs. He looked at the light, and to Frodo's shock the Elf paled until his face bore little more color than the Moon. He stood still and alert like a wild cat who has sensed great peril near; he said nothing, yet in his eyes was a deep fear older and greater than any Frodo had seen before.

The Elf's dismay had not gone unnoticed. The Fellowship drew still closer together. "What new devilry is this?" Boromir said in a low voice, raising his sword as though to fight the doom they felt beating upon their souls.

Gandalf watched the approaching red light, and it was as though a great weariness or resignation came upon the wizard. In a voice without emotion he said, "A Balrog."

Fuingwae cried out in terror and her eyes showed only horror. "We are lost!"

"What manner of creature is that?" Boromir demanded, for he could not fathom what terrible power could instill such fright within the three.

In a slow voice like one dead Gandalf replied, "A demon of the ancient world; formed of shadow and flame." Gandalf turned slowly away from the approaching light. "This foe is beyond any of you," he told them.

Then suddenly a light came upon his face, and by its urgency the spell of dread that had held the Company immobile was broken. " _RUN!_ "

They ran. Heedless of pain or fatigue, they ran; like wild creatures before a forest fire they flew before the approaching demon, down the main causeway and through the far doors. Down stairs and halls the Company fled, yet ever the growing crimson light followed at their heels, relentless and untiring. Their eyes were ever turned backwards, seeking and ever fearing they would find sight of their pursuer.

Boromir led, for his great stride had carried him before the others, and the torch in his hand led them onwards. Yet light there now was before them as well, for he passed through an archway into a great cavern of untold depths, and from below came the ruddy light of fires, and a great wave of heat. Boromir started forwards, only to find that the stair had shattered and led nowhere but to the depths of the great drop. Desperately he wrenched himself back, and from his hand the torch fell, dropped in his surprise. Down it dropped, a lost spark to be swallowed up in the depths of the raging fires far, far below. Upon the brink Boromir wavered and almost fell, but Legolas caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back from the precipice. Then Fuingwae called the others, for she had found another stair leading downwards, and the Company hurried down.

As Gandalf and Aragorn, last of the Fellowship, came through the door, Gandalf grabbed Aragorn's shoulder. "Lead them on, Aragorn!" he commanded. Guiding the Ranger's eyes to the far distance in the depths of the chasm, he added, "The Bridge is near." And far below and distant they saw a narrow span of stone across a black chasm, like a tiny thread across an endless void.

Aragorn turned to the wizard as though to speak, yet Gandalf did not wait to hear his words. "Do as I say!" the wizard commanded fiercely. "Swords are no more use here."

Down the stairs the Company went with all the haste they dared, for the way was narrow and steep, and there was no railing should one of them stumble. The way descended along a wall, then switched back until it reached an area below the door. Then it arrowed outwards, seeming almost frail in the emptiness of the open chamber, straight and precarious. And in the midst of this stretch the Company was brought to a halt, for here the ancient stone had crumbled and once again they faced a gap, where several stairs had fallen. Four feet wide and two feet down the empty space yawned before them, and far below they could see what looked like rivers of flame far below.

Legolas leapt, landing lightly upon the other side; Fuingwae followed closely behind, though her feet slid on the loose stone and for a moment it seemed she would tumble down the stairs.

The two turned to face the rest of the Fellowship who yet stood uncertainly beyond the divide, for none were as agile or light as the Elf or woman. Yet Legolas slung his bow over his shoulder. "Gandalf!" he called, gesturing to the wizard; Gandalf came forward, then steeled himself and leapt. Through the air he soared, until he came to a heavy landing upon the stair. There he stumbled, yet Legolas caught and steadied the wizard, then helped him move away from the edge.

Yet as they did so, a shriek of split air came from the right, where a sidewall of the chamber was visible against the fire; an arrow rebounded from the stone near Legolas and fell tumbling into the depths. The orcs knew the inner warren of their stolen realm well, and though they had not the courage to stand when their Captain came they were all too eager to gather upon a distant ledge and rain arrows down upon the Company as they stood in the open upon the stair. Yet the Company was not defenseless. In a moment, Legolas' bow was again in his hand; and when he fired, a dark shape fell stricken from the ledge, for shadow and uncertain light had no power over the keen vision of the Elves. Behind him and upon the stair above, Aragorn and Fuingwae also set their bows to use, and though their arrows were not as precise as Legolas' still their aim was better than that of the orcs, for their bows were of finer make and their skills superior.

"Legolas! Get the others across!" Fuingwae shouted, for most of the Company yet remained on the crumbling stair above, and she had not the strength of Legolas to save them should one miss the leap. Legolas turned and gestured to Pippin, who stood nearest the edge next to Merry; yet as the Hobbit moved forwards an arrow from the orcs ricocheted from the stairs mere inches from his feet, and he started back in fright.

Then the two Hobbits became aware of a sudden shifting beneath their feet. Boromir lunged forwards and grabbed them up in his arms, and with a mighty jump leapt from the stair that even then crumbled beneath his feet with a great tearing sound. He nearly knocked Legolas from the stair, and only the Elf's sharp reflexes saved him. Gandalf herded Merry and Pippin downwards and away from the ledge, where they would not be in similar danger.

"Don't these Dwarves believe in railings?" Pippin fretted, for in trivial things he found ways to shake aside fear. Merry did not rebuke him, for indeed he barely heard his cousin's ramblings; instead he turned to look back at the others. The gap had doubled with the crumbling of the stair, and still four of the Company had yet to cross.

Aragorn moved quickly, for he knew that the stair they stood upon was unsupported, and he set aside his bow. Lifting Sam, he turned and with all his strength tossed the Hobbit over the gap. Sam nearly screamed in terror at the great emptiness beneath him as he flew through the air. Then Boromir caught him and set him down upon the stairs to be guided downwards by Gandalf, and nothing seemed sweeter to Sam at that moment then the thought of reaching the end of these infernal stairs and standing on proper solid ground again, if it meant that he must fight an army of orcs to get there!

Still arrows were sent whistling towards the Company, and despite the efforts of Fuingwae some fell among the Company. By some miracle none found a mark within, though some came close; one arrow struck Frodo and sprang back, quivering, from his mail; another stuck in Gandalf's hat like a great black feather. Yet now the orcish archers were leery of coming near the precipice, for many had fallen to the Company's return volleys, and some sensed the approach of their Captain and fled ere he noticed their presence as they hounded his chosen prey.

Aragorn turned to Gimli, who stood nearest, but the Dwarf threw up a hand with a warning look to the Ranger. "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" he declared, and with a roar of effort leapt from the edge, throwing himself through the air towards the lower section. He landed upon the very brink; but he teetered backwards and began to fall. Lunging forwards, Legolas managed to catch hold of Gimli's thick beard and stay the Dwarf's fall. " _Not the beard_!" Gimli bellowed; but the Elf heeded him not and instead threw all his weight backwards, attempting to counterbalance the heavier Dwarf. After a few heart-stopping moments of precarious teetering upon the brink, Gimli managed to scramble up to safety with the aid of his companions.

Aragorn moved towards Frodo. Yet at that moment, another tremor of malice and dread moved through the Company and shivered the stone beneath their feet, and with a great crack the stair broke yet again. Aragorn shoved Frodo up the stairs to secure ground and lunged for it himself as a great section of stone gave way beneath his feet. Scrabbling at the stone he managed to pull himself to safety, and turned to look at the damage done in dread.

Silence reigned among the Fellowship. Twenty feet the gap now spanned, and the two most vital members of the Company, save perhaps Gandalf, were yet trapped upon the far side. Sam chewed at a corner of his cloak in worry; the others stood silent, looking about for some sign of anything that might aid them in bridging the gap.

Behind Aragorn and Frodo, the red light at the door grew as the implacable pursuit came nearer and nearer yet, and about the door the stone of wall and ceiling became to come asunder, as though the force of the malice beyond it was too great a pressure for the mountain to contain. Then with a deafening crash a great piece of stonework fell from above upon the stair behind Frodo and Aragorn, who found themselves trapped upon a pillar of stone, surrounded on all sides by empty air and smoke, and a fatal drop.

Yet the great support pillar beneath them was ancient and weakened, and the great shock of the falling stone had set the pillar's balance off. It began slowly to sway, soon to fall.

"Lean back!" Aragorn commanded Frodo, standing beside the Hobbit as the great pillar began to fall backwards. Heart in his throat Frodo obeyed, for if they were to have any chance of surviving this they must not be jolted from the falling stair by a change in direction. The stair tilted backwards ever so slightly, then shuddered to a momentary halt, stopped by the great wall behind it. It swayed right, then left; then it began to shift again.

"Lean forwards!" Aragorn cried, aiding Frodo as the great pillar began to shift forwards and fall towards the other side and their companions. It swayed slightly as it fell; then with a thunderous crash it collided with the support pillar upon the far side; yet this pillar was strong and thick and did not give way, and Aragorn and Frodo were flung by the momentum into the arms of their companions.

The company turned and began to hurry down the stairs once more, as the great pillar fell to the side again and began to crumble as it fell down and down towards the distant floor.

At the foot of the stairs they found themselves in a great hall. Nearby a great archway led to the depths of the mines again, yet across the breadth of this mighty way a great wall of flame had been set, roaring in hunger and rage. Gandalf hurried the Company onwards. "We have come to the Second Hall and the First Deep, the level immediately below the Gates; they are away beyond the eastern end, on the left, not more than a quarter of a mile. Had we come by the main way, though, we should have been blocked by these fires."

"A trap, then," Gimli snarled. "Luck was with us that we took the stair."

Beyond the flames came the clamor of discordant orcish voices, and an arrow whistled over their heads. Boromir laughed. "Luck _is_ with us; see! The orcs are blocked by the very fires they set to trap us!"

"Onward!" Gandalf commanded. "Quickly! There is a greater evil coming, and these flames are its kindred! Fly! Over the bridge and up the stair!"

Yet even as the wizard spoke there came a thunder of darkness behind them, and the orcish cries of rage turned to screams of pain and terror as a dark shape came forth, hideous and huge. The Company stumbled and looked back against their wills. Dark and terrible was the creature that stepped through the flames without care, and where the taloned foot came to rest stone splintered and glowed with heat. Horror and terror filled them, yet they moved as though held back by some terrible, malicious will. Little could be seen save eyes that burned with balefire and a shadowed figure with glowing nostrils, limned with dark fire wavering from the power of its own heat. Then the great mouth opened in a roar that had no audible sound and yet beat upon the Fellowship with a terrible force; and within the great maw was white-hot flame eager to consume the lives that fled before it.

" _Over the bridge_!" Gandalf commanded, and he leapt away; the others fled with him, and the wizard brought up the rear. Aragorn dashed across, and behind him came Pippin, Merry and Fuingwae, then Boromir and Frodo and Sam, followed by Gimli and Legolas. A mere few feet wide it was; the ancient defense of the dwarves, for any who crossed had to do so in single file. It was little more than a slender arch of stone, without curb or rail, that spanned the chasm with one curving spring of fifty feet; and had they not been driven by the terror that came at their heels the very thought of crossing that perilous bit of stone might have made the Hobbits dizzy; but all ran with all the speed they yet could give, and it was all they could do to keep their eyes upon the bridge and not look back as they fled along the narrow expanse, for doom was at their heels.

Aragorn reached the far side and turned; then he cried out in shock and dismay; for though Gandalf had followed them upon the bridge he did not cross completely. Instead Gandalf reached the center of the narrow expanse and turned to face the terrible shape that followed. The others gathered about the Ranger and turned to watch, for they could not simply flee and leave Gandalf to hold the bridge alone against the terror that pursued.

It was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form of immense size; a power and terror was in it and heralded its coming. A black smoke swirled in the air about it. It roared, and flames flickered about its form; of man-shape it seemed to be, and yet greater and more terrible than could be imagined. Legolas attempted to set an arrow to his bow; but his hands shook, and the shaft fell to the stone.

The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised a hand, and in it a whip of fire cracked the air.

"You cannot pass," said Gandalf with strange authority, and his voice rang with power of a kind Frodo had never heard before. Before him the wizard raised his staff, and the light in it blazed like a great star. Before the great shadow he seemed small and terribly alone, like a wizened tree before a storm, yet his voice was soft and commanded silence from friend and foe alike. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire," he said, "wielder of the flame of Anor. Your dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!"

From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming.

Glamdring glittered white in answer.

There was a ringing clash and a stab of white fire. The Balrog fell back and its sword flew up in molten fragments. The wizard swayed on the bridge, stepped back a pace, and then again stood still. "Go back to the shadow," he commanded. The Balrog's nostrils flared and again the fiery whip cracked the air; slowly, inexorably, it began to move forwards.

"YOU…" Gandalf shouted, and he grasped the blazing staff in both hands; "SHALL NOT…" he continued, raising it high.

" _PASS_!" he roared, and bringing his gnarled staff down he smote the bridge at his feet. A great flare of light exploded forth like a blinding sheet of white flame; and the bridge cracked. Right beneath the Balrog's feet it broke, and with a terrible cry the Balrog plummeted into the gulf, its whip flailing as it fell.

Gandalf turned away, for behind him the remainder of the bridge stood still, a tongue of rock quivering over the vast emptiness. But the Balrog had one evil yet to play, and the thongs of its whip lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. Gandalf fell, grasping vainly at the stone.

"Fly, you fools!" he cried, and was gone.

_(A.N. Please review; it's very discouraging to put a lot of effort into a story and then have it simply disappear into an abyss without knowing at least someone noticed it. Even if you just want to say 'I read your story' it would be nice.)_

  



	7. Chapter7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

** JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS **

 

Chapter Seven

Someone was screaming in soul-deep agony; in his mind Aragorn knew the voice as Frodo's, yet the knowledge was vague to him. As though from a great distance he heard Boromir call his name as the warrior lifted Frodo in his arms, then turned and fled for the stairs. Everything was strange and unreal to him; all that was real was the blackness of the chasm and the shattered finger of stone that half-spanned it, empty now. Aragorn's body moved, though it seemed to him as though his mind commanded it not; he backed away towards the stairs. The sound of orcish arrows rebounding from stone seemed sad and alone; the distant archers moved as though trapped underwater. Aragorn ducked an arrow that came too close to his head, then turned and ran up the stairs; his limbs felt heavy. Before him the Fellowship ran, towards the soft white light reflected from black stone that bore silent testimony to the proximity of the Gates; yet their eyes were turned back.

In some forgotten corner of the Ranger's mind that was not consumed by shock a bitter voice laughed at the cruel irony; for Gandalf had led them throughout their entrapment within the Mines only to fall at the very brink of freedom.

They ran on. The light grew before them. Behind the drumbeats tolled, now mournful and slow. _Doom, doom, doom_. At the top of the stair the orcs had set a small guard; Aragorn struck the Captain down and the others fled, for the Ranger was fierce and terrible to behold, wrapped in a shroud of loss and anger. Down the wide, flat hall they fled, and came at length to the Gates, a great archway of blinding light. Eyes dazzled they fled out the gates and down the broad leaping steps, the threshold of Moria.

Thus, at last, they came beyond hope under the sky and felt the wind on their faces.

They did not halt until they were out of bowshot from the walls, and Dimrill Dale lay all about them. The sun was high in the sky and blazed down upon the white stones surrounding them, for to the Company's shock it was yet high noon. The Dale around them was empty; behind them the Gates yawned darkly, and the last distant drumbeats faded into nothing. _Doom… doom…_

Then they could force themselves no farther, for at last grief descended on them. Merry and Pippin collapsed to the ground, holding each other; Sam simply sat right where he was and sobbed, and Fuingwae stood next to him, offering what comfort she could by her presence. Her eyes were dry, for the true impact of the loss had yet to reach her. Tears ran down Boromir's face as he restrained Gimli, for the Dwarf blindly tried to rush back to the Mines they had been so relieved to escape. Legolas stood still in silence.

Aragorn cleaned his sword and sheathed it, and he felt a heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders; for Gandalf had laid the charge of leadership upon him, and he knew they must obey the wizard's last command.

"Legolas," he called, and his voice was strange to him, sharp and harsh, "get them up." The Elf stirred and looked to him as though startled, and he moved slowly towards Sam, unwilling to interrupt but knowing that Aragorn would not ask it of them if there were not pressing need.

"Give them a _moment_ , for pity's sake!" Boromir cried.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Aragorn shouted in reply. "We cannot linger here. Come, Legolas," he said to the hesitant Elf. "Gimli! We must move on!

"On your feet, Sam," he said in a kinder voice, pulling the Hobbit up. Sam dashed the tears from his face and stiffened his chin. Turning, Aragorn saw that Frodo had strayed away from the others, moving like a sleepwalker among the round, flat stones. "Frodo!" he called, and he saw Frodo start and turn towards him. A single tear glimmered in the bright sunlight before Frodo brushed it away with his arm, returning.

"But where can we go?" asked Fuingwae. "Gandalf was our guide. What hope do we have without him?"

"Then we must do without hope; I shall guide you now," said Aragorn. "We must make for the woods of Lothlórien."

The Company now went down the road from the Gates. It was rough and broken, fading to a winding track between heather and bracken that thrust amid the cracking stones. Plain to see was an ancient roadway that had once been fair and broad in Elder days; yet now the earth had shifted somewhat, and the ground was broken and sharp. Yet the Company moved with speed, though their hearts were heavy and their limbs burdened with fatigue and pain. The road turned south and went quickly downwards, running out from between the arms of the dale. Some way below the mere they came on a deep well of water, clear as crystal, from which a freshet fell over a stone lip and ran glistening and gurgling down a steep rocky channel. Here they left the ancient road-way and crossed the rivulet, and the water was shocking and icy cold on their feet.

"This is the Silverlode," said Aragorn, "that runs from the mountain springs and joins the Great River. Our way lies beside it for some miles, for it leads us to the Golden Wood." They looked as he pointed, and before them they could see the stream leaping down to the trough of the valley, and then running on and away into the lower lands, until it was lost in a golden haze.

"There lie the woods of Lothlórien!" said Legolas. "There the leaves fall not in autumn, but turn to gold; only in the spring with the coming of the new green do they fall. Then the floor of the wood is gold, and golden is the roof with yellow flowers, and the walls are silver, for the bark is smooth and grey. So say the songs of my people, though we of Mirkwood rarely journey here. My heart would be glad indeed to walk beneath the eaves of that wood in Springtime."

"Spring or Winter I shall be glad to go to them!" Fuingwae said. Aragorn said nothing, for of the Company only he had ventured within Lothlórien, and though the memory was fair he knew that it would bring reminders of things that he must put out of his mind so long as the Quest continued.

At the banks of the Silverlode they paused briefly, to eat a short meal and to tend to the worst of their hurts, for the shock and terror of Moria was fading slowly and their bruises were beginning to make movement painful. They had escaped for the most part unharmed, but Sam had received a cut across his forehead that stung and made him a little dizzy, and Aragorn still felt the pain of the cave-troll's blow. Frodo, too, was in pain, for though the _mithril_ coat had saved him from death, he had not escaped the encounter unharmed. There was a dark and blackened bruise on Frodo's right side and breast, and at one point the rings had been driven through the soft leather shirt beneath the mail into the flesh.

When they had eaten and tended the worst of their injuries hastily, the Company got ready to go on. They put out the fire and hid all traces of it, for there was perhaps yet a chance that the orcs would not know by which road they had fled. The evening light was falling pale upon the dim lands of distant plain and wood by then, though the Company was shrouded under the shadow of the mountains. Now refreshed and ready to go on at a fair pace Aragorn led the Fellowship for three more long hours.

Night was fallen with a mantle of darkness over the land and the wind blew chill up the valley to meet them when they reached the wide grey shadow filled with an endless rustle of leaves like poplars in the breeze.

"Lothlórien!" Aragorn sighed. "Glad am I to hear the wind in the trees. Would that we came here in happier times! Five leagues we have come from the Gates, yet I think we cannot go further. Here we must rest, and hope the virtue of the Elves prevents pursuit."

"If Elves yet dwell here in this darkening world," said Gimli, for seeing the home of his people swarming with foul creatures had cast him into a grim temper.

"They do," said Legolas, "for not until the very end would my people leave this place. Something protects Lothlórien from the Shadow, for though he tests its borders and turns his eye towards it the Enemy has never assailed it. Yet they live deep within its borders now and do not deal lightly with those not of their kindred."

"Indeed, deep in the wood they dwell," said Aragorn, and he signed, for a memory stirred in him of a glade scattered with stars like suns and a vow made therein. Yet he cast the thought aside and turned to darker matters. "I fear that we must fend for ourselves this night. Come! We have a little further to go, until the trees are all around us. Then we shall turn from the path and seek a place to rest."

He stepped forward; but Boromir stood irresolute and did not follow. "Is there no other way?" he said.

"What other fairer way would you desire?" said Aragorn.

"A plain road, though it led through a hedge of swords," Boromir replied. "This Company has journeyed along strange paths. Already now we have passed through Moria, and to our grief. Now we are to enter the Golden Wood? Of that perilous land we have heard in Gondor, and it is said that few come out who once go in, and of that few none have escaped unscathed."

Aragorn looked into the Man's eyes and saw his unease, yet ere the Ranger could speak Fuingwae replied. "Lore wanes indeed in Gondor, if the city of those who once were wise now speaks ill of Lothlórien! And believe what you will; there is no other road we might take, unless we are to return to Moria, or scale the mountains behind us, or swim the Great River."

"Say not _unscathed_ , Boromir; but if you say _unchanged_ , then maybe you will speak closer to the truth. Yet Fuingwae is right; there is no other way," said Aragorn, for he knew the Man's fear, though Boromir would not acknowledge it.

"Then lead on!" said Boromir. "But it is perilous."

"Perilous indeed," said Aragorn, "fair and perilous; but only evil need fear it, or those who bring some evil with them. Follow me!"

Into the trees he led the Company, and the shadows fell deep around them. Yet beneath Lórien's mantle of winter gold twilight yet seemed to linger, as though loath to leave. Deeper they traveled, until at length perhaps a mile from the border they came upon a running stream, flowing swiftly down from the tree-clad slopes that climbed back westward towards the mountains. They could hear it splashing over a fall away among the shadows on their right, and its dark hurrying waters ran across the path before them.

"This is Nimrodel!" said Legolas. "In brighter days it is said that such rainbows danced in its spray that they lingered in its waters as flowers. All is dark now, and the Bridge on Nimrodel is broken down. It is said that its waters bring healing to the weary, though." He went forward and climbed down the deep-cloven bank and stepped into the stream. "Follow!" he called to the others. "The water is not deep."

"Indeed," said Aragorn, and he too descended to the waters. The stream was cold but its touch was clean, and when he stood within it he felt as though the stain of travel and weariness was washed from his limbs. He stood where it ran deepest and lingered there as the others crossed. Sam aided Frodo down the bank, though he was almost sent rolling into the waters headlong as Merry and Pippin rushed past in their hurry. The two youngest Hobbits laughed aloud with delight and kicked water at each other, and coming to the other side were grinning brightly like two children at play. Sam was steadied by Fuingwae, and Frodo had to gently coax the other Hobbit into the stream; Sam was eyeing the waters as though they might bite him if he turned his eyes elsewhere for even a moment. Yet though he did not tarry in climbing out once he reached the opposite bank, neither did the gardener rush across. Frodo followed, but paused next to Aragorn, allowing the water to rush past his legs and willing his loss and pain to wash away with it. Fuingwae crossed eagerly; but behind her came Gimli, who grimaced as he lowered himself down the slope. Yet when his feet entered the water a look of surprise passed briefly across his craggy features, and when he reached the opposite shore his face was distant, his thoughts turned inwards. Behind the Dwarf came Boromir, who splashed through the waters with a closed face and did not linger under their touch.

When all the Company had crossed, they sat and rested and ate a little food, for though the touch of the waters had eased their weariness they had traveled long that day, and the loss and pain they had suffered was not to be so easily put aside. They were tired and could go no farther. Legolas alone seemed to yet be fully alert, for he was of Elven-kind and weariness had little hold on him in face of his delight in the forest.

At first they spoke somewhat of bright things, and Fuingwae told them of some lore she had learned of Lórien, for she had all her life dearly wished to look upon it herself. Finally silence fell, and the sweet music of the waterfall reached them. At length Aragorn noted that Legolas was singing softly, in a voice hardly to be heard amid the rustle of the leaves above them that melded with the music of the stream, until it was as though he were merely a vessel or interpreter for the song of the waters. He sang in the Common Tongue, and Aragorn allowed himself to relax briefly, closing his eyes and letting the soft words wash over him.

He saw flickers of starlight silver and gold forming into a dancer who sang by a stream of light and color; the same stream by which they sat. But the dancer left the bank and vanished into twilight, leaving behind a grey ship at sea-shore and a noble lord waiting in vain. Then a storm came and cast the ship free, and in desperation the lord cast himself from it, braving the sea and waves to return.

There the song faltered and Aragorn opened his eyes. Legolas sat silent by the stream, and his eyes were shadowed with thought.

"Say, why'd you stop?" cried Sam in disappointment.

Legolas stirred and looked up. "I cannot sing more," he said quietly, "for it is a long song, and sad. It is of the maiden Nimrodel whose name this stream yet bears. It speaks of how sorrow came upon Lórien, when the Dwarves awakened evil in the mountains."

"But the Dwarves did not make the evil," said Gimli, who sat upon a root and stared thoughtfully upon the stream.

"I said not so; yet evil came," answered Legolas sadly. "Nimrodel was lost far in the South, in the passes of the White Mountains, and never came to the ship where Amroth awaited her. It is said that in the spring her voice can yet be heard at this stream that bears her name. And when the wind is in the South the voice of Amroth comes up from the sea; for Nimrodel flows into Celebrant which you call the Silverlode, and Celebrant into Anduin the Great, and Anduin flows into the Bay of Belfalas whence the Elves of Lórien set sail. But neither Nimrodel nor Amroth ever came back."

"That's a shame," said Pippin. "And more's the shame your folk don't put happier things to song too! I've noticed that when you sing, it's all muddled up with beauty and loss. Owtch!" For Merry had slapped the back of Pippin's head, aghast at his chattering mouth.

Legolas smiled softly. "Indeed, such is the direction of our thoughts in these times, for my kindred in Middle Earth are dwindling. Soon I fear we shall all be gone, and there will no longer be Elves in Middle Earth."

Sam pouted. "Well, that's a shame, for certain sure. I don't want to be in a world with no Elves in it, begging your pardon. Why, it just wouldn't be… well, it just wouldn't be _right_."

"Perhaps not, Sam, yet I fear that it is inevitable, and has been since the dawn of time." And as she spoke, Fuingwae's eyes turned towards Aragorn, and the Ranger shook his head slightly, for at the turn of conversation he had begun to fall back into his thoughts, and like the conversation the tone of his thoughts was sad.

"So where did she live? Is her house around here?" Merry asked curiously.

"She built no house, Master Merry," said Legolas. "The Folk of the Wood do not delve in the Earth as do Dwarves, nor do they build strongholds of stone, even in these dark times. They are called the Tree-Folk for good reason, for they place their dwellings within the boughs of their trees, out of reach from the ground."

"And even in these latter days, shelter within the branches would be safer than sitting on the ground," said Gimli. His eyes were watching the road on which they had traveled intently, and he looked upward to the dark boughs overhead thoughtfully.

"Your words bring good counsel, Gimli," said Aragorn, and the Ranger rose to his feet. "We cannot delve a bolt-hole for ourselves, nor craft a dwelling for protection; yet the trees may yield us shelter. Come, we have tarried here too long. We must find a place where we may hide, or defend ourselves, for I fear that peril was not left behind at Moria's Gates."

The Company now turned aside from the path, and went into the shadow of the deeper woods, westward along the mountain-stream away from Silverlode. Not far from the falls of Nimrodel they found a cluster of trees, some of which overhung the stream. Their great grey trunks were of mighty girth, but their height could not be guessed.

"I will climb up," said Legolas. "I am at home among trees, by root or bough, be they strangers to me or the trees of my home. I must see their shape and way of growth, if I am to find us safe harbor in their arms. These are _mellyrn_ trees; I have only heard tales of them, but I think they shall serve."

"Well, whatever it may be," said Pippin, "they will be marvelous trees indeed if they can offer any rest at night, except to birds. I cannot sleep on a perch; I haven't the feathers!"

"Then dig a hole in the ground, if that is more after the fashion of your kind," said Legolas. "But you must dig swift and deep, if you wish to hide from Orcs." He sprang lightly up from the ground and caught a branch that grew from the trunk high above his head.

Yet even as he climbed, a voice spoke suddenly from the tree-shadows above them " _Daro!_ " it said in a commanding tone, and the company, startled and alarmed, stiffened and reached for their weapons. Yet though Legolas stopped still where he was, he did not draw his bow.

"Stand still," he whispered to the others.

There was a sound of soft laughter over their heads, and then Aragorn heard another clear voice speaking in an Elven-tongue. Legolas looked up and answered in the same language.

"Who are they, and what do they say?" asked Merry, and he stood close to the Ranger. His voice he kept quiet in fear.

"They're Elves, Mister Merry," said Sam, craning his neck and trying to peer through the leaves. But even Legolas seemed to fade into the shadowy grey and green twilight; of the strangers there was no sign save their soft voices. "I should think you'd know the sound of Elves."

"Yes, they are Elves," said Legolas, and the others started as the Elf landed lightly amongst them again. "You need not fear, Samwise; they heard my voice across the Nimrodel and knew me as one of their Northern kindred, and so did not hinder us. We need not hide from them, for they say that they have had some tidings of Frodo and our journey."

"We need not have troubled ourselves even had we aught to fear, for they also say," said Fuingwae with a small smile, for she had been nearer the tree than Aragorn and better placed to hear the soft words, "that you breathe so loud that they could shoot you in the dark."

Sam hastily put a hand over his mouth.

Legolas looked to Aragorn. "They bid me climb up with Frodo to speak with them; the others they ask to wait a little, and to keep watch at the foot of the tree, until they have decided what is to be done."

Aragorn began to nod, yet Boromir's words gave him pause. "Send the Bearer up alone? That is foolishness! Perhaps you trust this place, but do not forget what became of us when last we trusted to past hospitality. Let us send at least one more, against the chance that this is nothing but a trick."

"But isn't that a mite unfriendly, Boromir?" Pippin asked. "Go looking for trouble and it will appear simply to please you, that's what I was always told."

"Still, he has a point!" said Sam, standing stubbornly by Frodo. "I'm going with Mr. Frodo, and I don't care if it's up a tree or down a dragon's throat!"

Aragorn chuckled. "I do not think that Boromir meant you, Sam," he said. "Nor do I think the Elves would object to your presence."

"I will go with them," Fuingwae said. "I can speak the Elvish language and know Elvish ways well enough to avoid causing disturbance." She turned to Boromir and looked at him questioningly. "Will that serve, Man of Gondor?"

Boromir hesitated, then nodded his assent. "I do not mean to mistrust all that we encounter," he said, "but merely to remind us all that caution must be our guidance in these perilous times."

Legolas turned and called softly up to the Elves hidden in the trees overhead. There was a pause of hesitation before the reply.

"Very well," he said, "they will permit the four of us to come up. But Fuingwae must leave her sword behind."

Out of the shadows a ladder was let down; it was made of rope shining silver-grey in the darkness, and though it seemed too slender it proved strong enough to bear the weight of many men. Legolas ran lightly up, and Frodo followed him slowly; behind Frodo came Sam trying not to breathe loudly, and in the rear was Fuingwae, who had entrusted her blade to the care of Aragorn.

"Come," said the Ranger when the four had disappeared into the shadows of the trees. "Our gear will prove too cumbersome to bring up into the boughs with us, if that is where we are to shelter tonight."

"Seeking shelter in the treetops like birds… this is not to my liking, Aragorn," said Boromir at length. "If pursuit comes upon us we shall have no way to run."

"Nor is it to mine," said Gimli, "but you speak as though flight would be an option were we to stay aground, and it is not. We have been taxed by a long journey, and our pursuers will be fresh. To remain aground is to remain within easy reach. I do not say that I _like_ it, but I know when one must bow to necessity." Turning to Aragorn again, the Dwarf asked, "Where should we stow our gear, then? For if the orcs find it then they shall know we are not far."

"Legolas suggested it, though I think he spoke in jest," said Aragorn, and he began to cast about among the fallen leaves. "Though we cannot burrow a hole for ourselves, a cache for our gear will not take long. Come!"

As they began to clear a small hole, Legolas rejoined them, dropping lightly from the branches; close behind came Fuingwae, who chose to use the ladder.

"Rumors preceded our coming," said the Elf. "Haldir and his brothers are the border-guards here, and they have offered us a place to rest in safety. Merry and Pippin are to stay with them, as are Frodo and Sam; there is a second _flet_ in another tree for the remainder. I shall let down the ladder." So saying, he sprang back into the branches and disappeared amidst the leaves.

Merry and Pippin quickly rescued their bedrolls, and Frodo's and Sam's as well. "Elves may like high places well enough," said Pippin with a shiver, "but I say, I suspect it'll be a cold wind waiting for us up there."

"Be that as it may, Pip," said Merry, "we can hardly be rude and turn down shelter."

"As Sam would say, 'Why, if that's shelter, then a floor and no roof makes a house!'"

"Pippin!"

As the Halflings climbed, Fuingwae looked to Aragorn and Gimli. "Things were not quite so simple as Legolas said," she said in a quiet voice, for she did not wish to concern Boromir or the Halflings. "The guards mistrust Gimli for the fact that he is a Dwarf, and they do not entirely hold faith with myself or Boromir, as we are unknown to them. You and Legolas are thus answerable to them on our behalf."

Aragorn sighed, and he shook his head. "Little otherwise could be expected in these dark times, though it pains me."

Gimli grumbled, but said, "Let it not be said that Dwarves do not appreciate hospitality, however grudgingly it is given. I will hold my peace, if they hold their own!"

Soon a second ladder descended not far from the remaining four, who climbed slowly and with care. Aragorn lingered upon the ground the longest, for he wished to ensure that no mark of their presence would linger to betray them. He did not fear the orcs, for they would be moving hastily and knew little of woodcraft; yet he feared what might lead them or follow, or walk in secret amongst their numbers. Yet at length he realized that there was nothing more to be done. Binding the trailing end of the rope to the back of his belt, so that he would pull it behind him as he climbed, Aragorn followed the others up.

`The branches of the mallorn-tree grew out nearly straight from the trunk, and then swept upward; but near the top the main stem divided into a crown of many boughs, and among these was nestled a wooden platform, reached through a circular hole in the center through which the ladder was passed. A light mesh served to block the wind and could be moved about the sides, yet otherwise there was no rail or wall. Gimli and Boromir stayed well back from the edge as they settled in to sleep. The Elves had supplied blankets, but Pippin's prediction of the wind proved to be accurate. From the neighboring trees soft voices could be heard for a short while from the Hobbits, mostly Pippin as he sought to ease his discomfort through chatter.

"If something so mundane as an apple grew in these branches, I think I should throw it at him," Gimli grumbled, pulling his hood over his head. Fuingwae chuckled and shook her head.

"…and I do hope that if I do somehow get to sleep in this bed-loft, that I shan't roll off."

"Once I do get to sleep," said an irritated Sam, "I intend to go on sleeping, whether I roll off or no. And the less said, the sooner I'll drop off, if you take my meaning."

It was deep night when Aragorn awakened, for he had been sleeping only lightly, knowing the Orcs of Moria would not allow the Company to escape so easily. In the dark forest he could hear snarling voices and the hard tramping of many heavy, iron-shod feet. A grating laugh was quickly silenced. There was a ring of metal scraping against metal. Yet they did not come too close, and soon faded away southward.

But all was not quiet; Aragorn thought he heard something, a faint rustle in the leaves. He knew it could not be one of the Elves, for they were silent and undetectable when they moved. Nor was it one of the Company, for all seemed to be asleep. Then there was a faint hiss and a scurrying sound, followed by silence.

Aragorn prayed that such would be the last they would hear of the shadow which had followed them since Moria.

Day came pale from the East, like the early sun of a cool summer's morning; the valley of the Silverlode lay like a sea of fallow gold tossing gently in the breeze. The morning was still young and cold when the Company set out again, guided by two of the Elven guards, Haldir and Rúmil; the third, Orophin, had gone ahead in the night to warn the Elves of the coming of the Orcs. They left the endless changeful music of Nimrodel behind and pressed south. For a time they returned to the path that still went on along the west side of the Silverlode, and there were prints of orc-feet in the earth. But soon Haldir turned aside into the trees and halted on the bank of the river under their shadows.

Haldir gave a call like the low whistle of a bird, and out of a thicket of young trees an Elf stepped, clad in grey like the border guards but with his hood thrown back. Haldir cast a coil of grey rope across the stream, and the other Elf caught it and bound the end about a tree near the bank.

"This is Celebrant, and already it is a strong stream here," said Haldir. "It runs both swift and deep, and is very cold. We do not set foot in it so far north, unless we must. But in these days of watchfulness we do not make bridges. This is how we cross; follow me." He made his end of the rope fast about another tree, and then ran lightly along it, over the river and back again, as if he were on a road.

"I can walk this path," said Legolas, "but the others have not this skill. Must they swim?"

"No," said Haldir. "We have two more ropes. We will fasten them above the other, one shoulder-high and another half-high, and holding these the strangers should be able to cross with care."

The Company passed over this slender bridge with varying ease. Legolas needed the extra rope not at all and ran lightly across. Aragorn followed with care. Of the hobbits Pippin proved the best for he was sure-footed; he walked over quickly, holding to the rope only with one hand, but carefully kept his eyes on the bank ahead and did not look down. Gimli hesitated on the bank until a slightly mocking word from Boromir sent him across; yet for all his weight and hesitation his feet came down solidly on the slender line and he did not falter.

Poor Sam was the only one who disliked the idea more than Gimli. He shuffled along one faltering step at a time, clutching hard and looking down into the pale eddying water as if it was a chasm in the mountains. Aragorn overheard him muttering to himself as he came upon the far side, "Live and learn! as my gaffer used to say. Though he was thinking of gardening, not of roosting like a bird nor trying to walk like a spider. Why, not even my uncle Andy ever did a trick like that!"

When the Company had crossed the Elves untied the ropes. Rúmil who remained on the eastern shore slung one coil over his shoulder and vanished into the trees, for he was to return to the border and keep watch. Haldir, who alone amongst the border guards spoke the Common tongue, turned to the Company.

"Now, friends," he said, "you have entered the Naith of Lórien, lying between the arms of Silverlode and Anduin the Great. We allow no strangers to spy out the secrets of the Naith. Few indeed are permitted even to set foot here.

"I must here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf, as was agreed. The others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters."

Aragorn frowned slightly, for he disliked these terms; yet he knew that such was the way of Lórien, which survived in the shadows of the Mountains through caution alone. Thus he said nothing; yet Gimli was more vocal in his protests.

"The agreement was made without my consent," he said. "I will not walk blindfold like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy! My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions."

"I do not doubt you," said Haldir. "Yet this is our law. I am not the master of the law and cannot set it aside. I have done much in letting you set foot over Celebrant."

Gimli was obstinate. He planted his feet firmly apart and laid his hand upon the haft of this axe. "I will go forward free," he said, "or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I perish alone in the wilderness!"

"You cannot go back," said Haldir sternly. "Now you have come thus far, you must be brought before the Lord and the Lady. They shall judge you, to hold you or give you leave, as they will. You cannot cross the rivers again, and behind you there are now secret sentinels that you cannot pass. You would be slain before you saw them."

Gimli drew his axe from his belt; Haldir and his companion bent their bows.

"A plague on Dwarves and their stiff necks!" said Legolas.

"I say!" said Merry. "There's no need to start a scuffle here! Surely you can't blame them for the laws of their land, Gimli."

"But he has a point," said Pippin. "It hardly seems fair to single Gimli out like a bad apple!"

Gimli laughed suddenly. "To be singled out I dislike, but Merry is correct and I should not quarrel over matters that those I contend with cannot change. But I will be content, if only Legolas here shares my blindness."

"I am an Elf and a kinsman here," said Legolas, becoming angry in his turn.

"Now let us cry: 'a plague on the stiff necks of Elves!' " Fuingwae laughed. "Come, Legolas. Surely you do not object to sharing the fate of a companion."

"Enough!" said Aragorn. "If I am still to lead this Company, then heed me now. Let none of us be singled out. We shall all go blindfold. That will be best, though it will make the journey dull and slow."

"What's wrong, Missy?" asked Sam curiously, for Fuingwae's face fell at this pronouncement, to Legolas' amusement. "Fair's fair, after all, though I can't say I'm too happy about it either. But we'll get it all straightened out eventually, I suspect!"

"Yes," said Frodo quietly. "And Aragorn speaks truly; the Company should all fare alike."

"Enough discussion," said Aragorn. "We yet have some way to travel. Come, bind our eyes, Haldir!"

"I shall claim full amends for every fall and stubbed toe, if you do not lead us well," said Gimli as they bound a cloth about his eyes.

"And I'll do the same if one of these great big lugs should step on and squish me!" said Pippin lightly, immediately feeling around like a child playing a game. "Though I should say that there probably shan't be much of a difference than if they could see. They never bother to look down for us anyways!"

"Alas for the folly of these days," said Fuingwae. "Here all are enemies of the one Enemy, and yet we must be treated as foes and walk blind."

"Folly it may seem," said Haldir. "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him. Yet so little faith and trust do we find now in the world beyond Lothlórien, unless maybe in Rivendell, that we dare not by our own trust endanger our land. We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon the bowstring than that of the harp."

All that day the Company marched on, until they felt the cool evening come and heard the early night-wind whispering among many leaves. Then they rested and slept without fear upon the ground; for their guides would not permit them to unbind their eyes, and blinded they could not climb. A strange feeling had come upon them on reaching the far bank of Silverlode, and it had deepened as they walked onward, as though they had come upon a fragment of the Elder Days. In Rivendell the memory of ancient things was preserved; in Lórien the ancient things still lived on in the waking world. Yet Aragorn sensed a sadness within the forest. Evil had been seen and heard there, sorrow had been known; the Elves feared and distrusted the world beyond the wood's borders. Yet within Lórien no shadow yet lay.

In the morning they went on again, walking without haste. At noon they halted, and Aragorn became aware of many voices around them. A marching host of Elves had come up silently; they were hastening toward the northern borders to guard against further attack from Moria. They brought news with them, some of which Haldir passed on to the Company. The marauding orcs had been waylaid and almost all destroyed; the remnants had fled westward towards the mountains and were being pursued. Yet Aragorn also overheard other tidings; a strange creature also had been seen, running with bent back and with hands near the ground, like a beast and yet not of beast-shape. It had eluded capture, and they had not shot it for they knew not whether it was good or ill. It had vanished down the Silverlode southward.

Yet Haldir had other news that brought the Ranger's mind away from distant dangers. "I have been brought a message from the Lord and Lady of the Galadrim. You are all to walk free, even the dwarf Gimli. It seems that the Lady knows who and what is each member of your Company. New messages have come from Rivendell perhaps."

He removed the bandage first from Gimli's eyes. "Your pardon!" he said, bowing low. "Look on us now with friendly eyes! Look and be glad, for you are the first dwarf to behold the trees of the Naith of Lórien since Durin's Day!"

For a while they rested there, in an open space near a great mound, covered with a sward of grass as green as Spring-time in the Eldar days, studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars, and other flowers white and palest green shimmering like mist amid the rich hue of the grass. Aragorn held one of the golden blooms, an _elanor_ flower, and in his mind heard soft words exchanged under twilight in Cerin Amroth – for that was the name of this place.

" _Arwen vanimelda, namárie!_ " he said softly, and hearing a step behind him turned to find Frodo descending the hill with Haldir, from which they had been looking about at the surrounding lands. "Here is the heart of Elvendom on earth," Aragorn said, "and here my heart dwells ever, unless there be a light beyond the dark roads that we still must tread, you and I. Come with me." And taking Frodo's hand in his, he left the hill of Cerin Amroth, and came there never again as living man.

Night had come beneath the trees and the Elves had uncovered silver lights when they came into a wide treeless space beneath a pale evening sky pricked by stars; yet the grass was green, as if it glowed still in memory of the sun that had gone. Upon the further side there rose to a great height a green wall encircling a green hill thronged with mallorn-trees taller than any they had yet seen in all the land. Their height could not be guessed, but they stood up in the twilight like living towers, and amid the ever-moving leaves of their many-tiered branches countless lights were gleaming, green and gold and silver. They had come to Caras Galadon, the city of the Galadrim.

They turned and followed the line of the wall westward, for the bridge into Caras Galadon faced southward, and they had arrived at the northern end. The city shadowed their path like a verdant cloud overhead, and as the night deepened more lights sprang forth, until all the hill seemed afire with stars. They came at last to a white bridge, and crossing found the great gates of the city. Haldir knocked and spoke, and the gates opened soundlessly; but of guards there was no sign. Passing through the deep lane between the walls they came at last into the City of the Trees. No folk could they see, nor hear any feet along the paths; but there were many voices, about them and in the air above.

At length they came to a shimmering fountain falling into a basin of silver, from which a white stream spilled; it was lit by silver lamps that swung from the boughs of trees about it. There stood the mightiest of all the trees; its great smooth bole gleamed like grey silk, and up it towered, until its first branches, far above, opened their huge limbs under shadowy clouds of leaves. At its base the vast trunk seemed as wide around as a rich man's dwelling. A broad white path guarded by arches of living wood encircled the trunk, though it stood slightly apart from the living wood, and spiraled upwards into the reaches of pale silvery lights and rustling twilight shadows; the pathway seemed to be not crafted at all, but a gift of the living wood, that the Elven-kind might honor its offering by making their homes there.

Haldir led them upwards, and at his bidding Frodo came next, with Legolas by his side. Aragorn followed them closely, and behind came the others. The Company climbed the great stairs slowly, for now they came into the living levels of the City, and on similar though lesser pathways among the branches they caught glimpses of the tall, fair folk as they moved about, and many seemed to pause in wonder at the sight of these strangers. The climb was long, but not arduous, for there were many flets where the companions could pause briefly, to rest and recover.

At length they came to a great flet, like the deck of a ship, and it was like a hall, with walls of woven living branches. They faced the far end and the graceful, short stair which led to a raised dais and was flanked on either side by archers standing proud and still, as though frozen in a moment of time. Behind them through the dais rose the trunk of the great mallorn-tree, now tapering towards its crown, and yet making still a pillar of wide girth.

The chamber was filled with a soft light, and at the bole of the tree were two chairs. There, canopied by the living branches above them, sat side-by-side Celeborn and Galadriel. They rose to greet their guests after the manner of the Elves, even those accounted as great rulers and mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord. Her hair was of deep flowing gold, and the hair of Celeborn long and silver. No sign of age was upon them, unless perhaps it lay within their eyes, for these were keen as lances in the starlight in their gaze, and yet profound; wells of deep memory.

Haldir led the Company before them, and the Lord welcomed each courteously by name as they entered. The Lady Galadriel said no word but looked long upon their faces, and at her gaze each felt a strange shock resonate through their souls.

"Come forward, Frodo of the Shire! When all have come we will speak together, for in these times council must be shared by all.

"Well met, Samwise of the Shire! You need not hurry yourself. Nay, do not be ashamed! You will have chance to speak with our gardeners later, should you so desire.

"Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn! It is eight and thirty years of the world outside since you came to this land; and those years lie heavy on you. But the end is near, for good or ill. Here lay aside your burden for a while.

"Welcome, Fuingwae of the Wild Lands. Set aside your long struggle for a time here, for all wanderers seek rest in trying times.

"Warm greetings to you, Boromir of Gondor. We greet you with honor, and in honor you have come. You are welcome in our land, son of Denethor.

"Come, join your friends, Meriadoc and Peregrin. There will be time for exploration aplenty ere you leave us, but for now, let us share words and company for a time.

"Welcome, son of Thranduil! Too seldom do my kindred journey hither from the North.

"Welcome, Gimli, son of Glóin! It is long indeed since we saw one of Durin's folk in Caras Galadon. But today we have broken our long law. May it be a sign that though the world is now dark better days are at hand, and that friendship shall be renewed between our folk." Gimli bowed low.

Yet when all the company had gathered, Celeborn looked at them and his face was drawn with concern. "Here there are nine," he said, "yet ten were to set out from Rivendell; so said the messages. Was there a change of council of which we did not hear? Elrond is far away, and darkness gathers between us, and all this year the shadows have grown longer."

"There was no change of counsel," said the Lady Galadriel, speaking for the first time. Her voice was clear and musical, and in its deep tones was a second music, music born of wisdom borne through many ages. "Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but he did not pass the borders of this land. I much desire to speak with him. Tell me, where is he now? For it is not of his nature to leave a task once he has set out upon it. Yet I cannot see him from afar, unless he comes within the fences of Lothlórien: a grey mist is about him, and the ways of his feet and of his mind are hidden from me."

A weight seemed to come upon Aragorn once more; or perhaps he simply became aware of it again, having forgotten in the peace and beauty of the Golden Wood. "Alas!" he said, and though his voice was low and soft the pain it bore cut through the air like a blade. "Gandalf the Grey has fallen into shadow. He led us through Moria, and when our escape seemed beyond hope he saved us, but at great cost to himself. He remained in Moria and did not escape."

"These are dark tidings indeed!" cried Celeborn in dismay. "Why have I been told nothing of this?"

"We have said nothing to Haldir of our purpose, nor of our journey," said Fuingwae, "for at first weariness and pain silenced us; and afterwards we almost forgot our grief for a time as we walked in gladness on the fair paths of Lórien."

"Yet our grief is great and our loss cannot be mended," said Frodo softly, and his eyes were downcast.

"Tell us now the full tale!" said Celeborn.

Aragorn recounted all that had happened upon the pass of Caradhras and in the days that followed; and he spoke of Balin and his book, and the fight in the Chamber and their final flight through the Mines. His words were quiet but steady as he spoke of the orcs and the fires, yet his voice failed him when he tried to speak of the coming of the Terror.

"An evil of the Ancient World it seemed, such as I have never seen before," said Aragorn. "It was both a shadow and a flame, strong and terrible, and Gandalf seemed to know of it."

"It was a Balrog of Morgoth," said Legolas.

"Indeed I saw upon the bridge that which haunts our darkest dreams. I saw Durin's Bane," said Gimli in a low voice, and dread was in his eyes.

"Alas!" said Celeborn. "We have long feared that under Caradhras a terror slept, but not one so great! If it were possible one could say that at the last Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria." He fell silent, and his eyes were angry as he looked to Gimli as though in the Dwarf he saw the folly that had awakened the Balrog, and wished it gone.

"He would be rash indeed that said such words," said Galadriel gravely. "Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. Yet it was a choice freely made by all. Do not repent of your welcome to the Dwarf, Celeborn. If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?

"Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone."

She looked upon Gimli, who stood glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer. He stepped forward clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: "Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!"

Gimli retreated, his eyes lowered and fixed upon the floor, and though a small smile of wonder was on his face, he seemed strangely self-conscious. Fuingwae smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder, and the Dwarf started slightly in surprise, for his thoughts had been distracted.

There was a silence. At length Celeborn spoke again. "Forgive my harsh words, son of Glóin, for I spoke in the trouble of my heart. I will do what I can to aid you, each according to his wish and need, but especially that one of the little folk who bears the burden."

"Your quest is known to us," said Galadriel, looking at Frodo. "But we will not here speak of it more openly. Yet not in vain will it prove, maybe, that you came to this land seeking aid. For the Lord of the Galadrim is accounted the wisest of the Elves of Middle-earth, and a giver of gifts beyond the power of kings. He has dwelt in the West since the days of dawn, and I have dwelt with him years uncounted; for ere the fall of Nargothrond or Gondolin I passed over the mountains, and together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat.

"I it was who first summoned the White Council. Had my designs not gone amiss, it would have been governed by Gandalf the Grey, and then mayhap things would have gone otherwise. But even now there is hope left. I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that. For not in doing or contriving, nor in choosing between this course and another, can I avail; but only in knowing what was and is, and in part also what shall be. But this I will say to you.

"Your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while all the Company is true."

And with that word she held them with her eyes, and in silence looked searchingly at each of them in turn. None save Legolas and Aragorn could long endure her glance. Sam quickly blushed and hung his head.

At length the Lady Galadriel released them from her eyes, and she smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you shall sleep in peace." Then they sighed and felt suddenly weary, as those who have been questioned long and deeply, though no words had been spoken openly.

"Go now!" said Celeborn. "You are worn with sorrow and much toil. Even if your Quest did not concern us closely, you should have refuge in this City, until you were healed and refreshed. Now you will rest, and we will not speak of your further road for a while."

That night the Company slept upon the ground, much to the satisfaction of the hobbits. The Elves spread for them a pavilion among the trees near the fountain, and in it they laid soft couches; then speaking words of peace with fair elvish voices they left them. For a little while the travelers talked of their night before in the tree-tops, and of their day's journey, and of the Lord and Lady. They could not yet bear to look farther back.

"What did you blush for, Sam?" said Pippin curiously. "Why, you didn't even look at her but for a moment and you were red as an apple! Anyone would have though you had a guilty conscience. What have you done to my blankets? Fess up now!"

"Why, I haven't done nothing, Mister Pippin, and don't you go spreading such tales about me!" Sam was thoughtful. "It just seemed to me as though… well, as though she were in my head, or something of that sort, and offering me whatever I should like. She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with… with a bit of garden of my own."

"That's funny," said Merry. "Almost exactly what I felt myself; only, only well, I don't think I'll say any more," he ended lamely.

"What about you, Frodo?" asked Pippin curiously. "She certainly took a long look at you, Frodo – what did you see?"

"Yes, she did," said Frodo; "but whatever came into my mind, I will keep there."

From the twilight beneath the trees a soft voice was singing. The tune was mournful and sad, and slowly other voices joined it, sweet and eerie. Legolas, who had brought a small pitcher for water, paused in his steps and stood still, listening. "A lament for Gandalf," he said quietly.

Merry looked up. "What do they say about him?" he asked in a solemn tone.

Legolas hesitated, and at length shook his head. "I… have not the heart to tell you," he admitted. "For me the grief is still to near; a matter for tears, not yet for song."

Fuingwae turned away and walked into the shadows, for tears had indeed at last come to her face, tears withheld by necessity and now freed by peace. She was not alone, for all felt their grief return anew at the reminder, and each left to seek their own means of solace.

Beyond the sight of the Company she found Gimli. The Dwarf sat in thought upon a great root, and though he looked up at her approach he did not seem to see her. Yet when he spoke, his tone was conversational. "It would seem we all felt it; a choice seemed to be offered, between the fear that lies ahead and something we greatly desire, should we but turn aside from our chosen path and abandon the Quest."

"Yet our journey lies through many perils, and we ourselves are not the least of them," she replied. "Each of us must suffer the call of the Ring, and should we be vulnerable to fine lies, we will fall, and the Quest will fall with us. Better to test ourselves now in safety, than learn we have not the strength in the Wilds where there are none to aid us." She paused in thought. "Yet each choice was different. Samwise spoke of home, yet I felt as though I were offered… knowledge."

"As for my choice, it shall remain secret and known only to myself," said Gimli. "Each choice was made for the chooser and no other, yet the repercussions of each shall be felt by all the Company in times to come, I fear."

"I wonder what the others chose," she said thoughtfully.

Aragorn followed the silvery rill running beside their pavilion upstream a short way, to where it formed a small fountain splashing softly through a series of basins. There he found Boromir, sitting and watching the fountain without truly seeing it, for his mind and heart were turned inwards in contemplation.

"You should take your rest; these borders are well protected," the Ranger said, as he paused by the fountain.

Boromir looked up at him, yet the Man did not stir from his place. "I will find no rest here," he said in a voice of torment. Aragorn waited, and at length the Man continued, for his thoughts had grown too heavy to bear in silence. "I heard her voice within my mind. She spoke to me of my father, and the fall of Gondor…" He took a careful breath, and there was a catch in it as though with tears that had not yet been acknowledged. "She said that even now, there is hope… but I cannot see it." He looked down at the pool again. "It… has been long since we had any hope," he said.

Aragorn sat beside Boromir, yet the Man did not seem aware of his presence, for he continued to speak. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I, I would do it, for I would see the glory of Gondor restored." Now Boromir raised his face again, and his eyes were distant and shining as though seeing wonders far away. "Have you ever seen it, Aragorn?" he asked. "The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of silver and pearl, its banners caught high in the morning breeze? Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of the trumpets?"

Aragorn's eyes also grew distant, for his vision was trained upon the mists of the past. "I have seen the White City," he said quietly. "Long ago."

Boromir turned to him, and there was a joy in his eyes, and his voice was eager. "One day, our paths will lead us there," he said, and there was a promise in his words. "And the Tower Guard shall take up the call, for the Lords of Gondor have returned!"

Aragorn nodded slightly, yet his face was pensive. But whatever counsel or thoughts came to him at those words, he did not speak it.

_(AN <sighs in relief> Whew! This one took a long time – Narisa had to get some mundane stuff done, and I needed a break, and both of us had schoolwork to distract us from real life! :-P_

_The next chapter –whenever it goes up– will be for the most part original, as we try to concentrate on some of the characters who are set aside in the original._

_Please review! Writing into a void is not exactly rewarding._

_Narisa: it gets more original in the next chapter and PLEASEEEEEEEEEE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)_

  



	8. Chapter8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Combination of original story, movie and an original character. Some violence. Co-author Kryal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

JOURNEY THROUGH SHADOWS

 

Chapter Eight

They remained some days in Lothlórien, so far as they could tell or remember. All the while that they dwelt there the sun shone clear, save for a gentle rain that fell at times, and passed away leaving all things fresh and clean. The air was cool and soft, as if it were early spring, yet they felt about them the deep and thoughtful quiet of winter. It seemed to them that they did little but eat and drink and rest, and walk among the trees; and it was enough. 

Gimli spent the early days wandering alone and looking upon the homeland of the Elves in wonder, for he had not even tales to warn him of the majesty and the beauty of the Elven kingdom. At length he came upon a small, wild streambed, and there sat and thought for many hours. In his hands he played with a small stone, feeling the shape and grain of it and wondering what form it might take under the hands of his folk. Yet when he attempted to shape the stone with another, he could not bring himself to lower the first blow, for something ever seemed to be missing.

Finally he returned it to the stream and rose, meaning to return to the Company. Yet as he made his slow way through the towering trees, he came upon a small glade where a group of younger trees stretched their limbs to the sky above, for the leaves of the greater trees had left a small clear place where sunlight shone down to touch the forest floor. Perhaps in other lands these smaller trees might have been considered full-grown, yet they were but children against the magnitude of the great mallorn about them. There he encountered Legolas, who sat in the lower boughs in thought. At the edge of the glade Gimli hesitated briefly, for he did not know if he was welcome. At length, however, he came forward.

"This realm is a bastion of peace in a world at war," he said suddenly. "A pity that its borders turn aside any who dare enter."

Legolas stirred and looked down at the dwarf, as though his mind had been far away ere Gimli's voice recalled him. "A pity, yes, but a necessary one. The Shadow's eye has ever been fixed upon it, for there is something within this wood that he desires and loathes, and not all the Enemy's servants are foul to the eye. He was named the Deceiver for good purpose; ever has he sought to destroy from within ere he attacked from without."

"Yet the consequences of such caution run deep," said Gimli, "for though those who would be foes are kept from the borders, so too are those who would be friends."

"Strange words from a Dwarf," said Legolas in reply.

"Not so strange as many would think," Gimli said sternly. "We of the mountain halls may be slow to give our trust, yet when friendship is given we are loyal unto death." He paused, and at length added, "Though Dwarves make bitter enemies to have, we make stronger allies."

Legolas lightly dropped from the branch, landing without a sound upon the soft loam of the forest floor. His face was thoughtful. "Your words ring of truth. You proved the strength of your kind in the dark of Moria. Without the aid of all, we would have perished within the mines."

Gimli turned away, and his eyes searched the shadows beneath the trees as though an answer to his many thoughts was hidden within them. "Moria… Long have I desired to look upon the halls of my ancestors. Yet they are dark and foul now. Only beyond their borders have I found the beauty I had thought would be within them."

Legolas looked to him curiously. "Indeed? I had not thought it the way of the Dwarves to consider a woodland beautiful."

Gimli shook his head. "Such is not normally our way, for we seek to craft the raw ores in the depths of the world and have never thought to seek beyond the craft of our hands for beauty." He raised his face to the rustling leaves above. "Yet in this land I have discovered a gold fairer than any I thought ever to know, though it is housed in leaf and light and is only constant in its change."

"The beauty of this land might even touch the heart of the Shadow, though I doubt there remains a heart to be touched," said Legolas. "Yet… you do your kind ill credit, Gimli, to think the works of your hands hold little beauty. Moria was once a great land and a fair one, and though long ago it fell into shadow echoes yet remain of its own great beauty."

Gimli paused and looked to the ground. Then he shook his head. "Hmph. Be that as it may, we must hurry if we are to return ere the halflings eat every scrap of dinner." He turned and walked away, purposely treading heavily as though to stamp out the thoughts of the past few minutes.

The Company gathered to eat beneath the pavilion, though most were silent in their thoughts. When the meal ended they would linger, until at length they drifted apart again.

At length Legolas rose, for he had taken to wandering farther afield than the others of the Fellowship, and oft they saw naught of him until they again broke their fast. Yet this time he hesitated, and cast a glance at Gimli, who sat with head bowed once more in thought. "Would you care to accompany me, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli paused, then replied slowly, "Yes… indeed I would, Master Elf." Rising, he joined Legolas and the two left the pavilion.

Pippin turned to Merry and found his cousin looking back at him. They blinked together, and twin expressions of surprise adorned their faces.

"Did you see that?" Pippin asked curiously. "I thought I did, but then this is a strange place and one can't be too sure if one is awake or dreaming."

"I think I did," said Merry, "and I wonder what it means."

"Well, I'm just glad they're getting along properly now," said Pippin importantly. "Say – where'd everyone go?" For indeed now only the two of them remained beside the fountain.

Merry shook his head. "They left, of course. What _were_ you paying attention to?"

"Why, the food, of course. It would be terribly rude to turn one's mind from eating when one's hosts lay such a fine spread!" He rose, brushing lightly at his trousers to remove what crumbs lingered, and Merry rose with him. "So, what do we do now?"

"Must I do all your thinking for you? Fool of a Took!"

Pippin's face fell. "Oh, Merry, did you have to do that? Now see what you've done, I keep seeing old Gandalf in my mind and wondering what he would say. It just doesn't seem right, to be pattering about as though nothing has changed when he's gone."

Merry put an arm about his cousin's shoulders. "Now see here, Pippin," he said, "Gandalf wouldn't want you to be going about guilty-feeling over an accident. He may have complained, but I think he was glad to have you along – and me, too. We kept him from being too serious. Frodo, see, he's all caught up in this business of the high-and-mighty, and Sam's too busy keeping Frodo's feet on the ground where they belong to help the others with plain old hobbit-sense. Buck up!"

"Oh? And so when did you go about knocking skeletons into wells and raising a ruckus that would rattle the old Took himself?"

"And maybe things would have been better if you'd kept that curiosity of yours shut tight inside where it belongs and maybe they wouldn't have. Those orcs would have found us sooner or later! Now let's go do something."

Pippin brightened. "I'm hungry."

"We just ate!"

"So? We're four meals short! What sort of people are these Big Folk, living on only three meals a day? Why, we'd waste away to nothing if we had to do that for long!"

Merry grinned, and there was a light in his eye that had been absent ever since he'd suggested sneaking into Elrond's council after Sam. "Well, Elves don't live on air do they? And these mallorn trees, they're all well and nice, but they can't grow wheat in them! There must be a larder somewhere. And Master Celeborn did say we could explore."

"That would be good," said Pippin. "Surely they would not think to turn down a pair of starving young hobbits!"

Together the cousins set off, for though they had done some exploration earlier they had taken care to remain close to the familiar presence of the Company. Now they ranged out, searching.

At length they found their destination within a hollow in the roots, where barrels were stored. The Hobbits tested the lid of one and found it opened easily. Soon they were well-fed on apples, and their minds turned then to further exploration.

"I say, look at that little cubby-hole," said Merry, for set high in the wall nearest them was a deep recess.

"I wonder how deep it is," said Pippin, and he rose to his feet and began to scamper about trying to see within. Merry soon came to aid him, yet their efforts proved to be of no avail, for the opening was too high to reach.

At length Merry paused. "Well, this isn't doing us any good."

Pippin, too, hesitated, then turned to Merry. "I have an idea. What if we use those boxes? Then one of us could stand on it and climb in!"

"Splendid idea." Hurriedly the two shoved a crate to the wall beneath the cubby.

"You climb up," Pippin told Merry. "I'll stay down here and watch for trouble."

Merry glared. "Wasn't this your idea, Pippin?"

"But you're taller!" said Pippin. "How else will you get in and out properly?"

Merry at last shook his head. "Oh, very well. But I shall hold you accountable should anything happen to me!"

"Merry, we're just having a bit of a look-see, something to tide us over until the others come back for luncheon! What could possibly go wrong?"

"As my Uncle Tom would say, famous last words." But despite his objections Merry climbed atop the box and found that, with a bit of scrambling, he could climb into the cubby, though he was forced to slither upon his stomach.

Pippin waited eagerly on the floor beneath the cubby. "Well? Well?"

Merry edged deeper within the hole and felt about with his hands. "Well, if that isn't the biggest disappointment. It's empty!" So saying, he began to wriggle backwards. Yet he soon found the going to be hard, for his coat caught and bunched up, wedging him in place.

"Merry? Hurry up! What's taking so long?"

Merry squirmed and attempted to reach around and loosen his coat, yet failed. "I'm stuck!"

"Oh. Why don't you get unstuck, then?"

Merry grumbled and kicked his feet. "Pippin, there will be a reckoning for that comment when I get out!"

"Oh, do you need help?"

"Of course not! I'm hanging here with my feet sticking out because I find it _pleasant_!" Merry struggled to loosen his coat with a touch of panic, for this place reminded him all too much of Old Man Willow in the Old Forest.

"Well, what do I do?" Merry could dimly hear Pippin scampering about in panic. There was a crash, and a yelp, and Pippin complained, "I can't reach you!"

"Think of something!" Merry yelled.

"What do I do?" Suddenly Pippin yelped. "Someone's coming!"

Merry panicked further. "Do _something_ , you ninny!"

"Master Pippin? Where is Master Merry?"

The Hobbit was near ready to sob with relief, for the voice was familiar. "Fuingwae! Help!" he cried, and kicked his feet in hopes of drawing her attention.

"What are you doing in there, Merry?" the Ranger asked, and there was a hint of laughter in her voice as she drew closer.

"I'm stuck!"

"Try moving forward and backward again…"

At length, by inching forward and back again, Merry managed to work himself free. Fuingwae caught him as he backed out from the cubbyhole, and he sighed in deep relief as his feet at last touched firm ground once more.

Pippin edged closer, on the verge of laughter. "Truly, Merry, you looked so silly!"

Merry turned to him, and there was a fighting gleam in his eyes. "Pip…"

Fuingwae backed away, raising her hands as though to defend herself from flying sparks. "Ere you quarrel, would one of you tell me where I might find Gimli or Legolas?"

"Eh? Oh!" Merry blinked. "They left a little while ago together. Did you see which way they went, Pippin?"

Pippin thought deeply for a brief moment. "I believe they were going upstream from the fountain, though I do not know if they continued to follow it. It was the oddest thing, Miss Fuingwae! Legolas just got up and asked Gimli if he cared to come along, and Gimli said yes! Who would have thought it was possible?"

Fuingwae blinked, and a slow smile spread across her features. "Indeed? Many things are possible, small ones. You have my thanks. I shall leave now – but do remember, we are to leave soon. It would be ill fortune for you to injure each other and prolong our stay." The Ranger turned and left, and the Hobbits looked at each other. At length they shrugged and set off to see what else there was to see, quarrel forgotten.

Ever in her life had Fuingwae wished to walk beneath the eaves of the Golden Wood, to see the golden leaves of winter and the silver pillars of the trees. Within the Naith of Lothlórien all weariness and pain ebbed away, and the soul and mind were cleansed and rested. Yet somehow the forest was not a place to walk alone, and the wonder of it was a wonder doubled by the sharing, and the lingering ache of loss was eased.

She had seen little of the Elf and Dwarf, for Legolas was often away among the Galadrim and Gimli had withdrawn to solitude for a time. That they had each sought the company of the other was curious, and so as she walked among the trees she watched for sign of them.

At length she found them, in a cool grotto near a silvery pool of shimmering water among a cluster of great moss-gowned stones. Legolas sat atop one high boulder, watching with understated amusement as Gimli bathed his feet in the clear waters. As Fuingwae drew near she heard them exchange words, though too soft to hear; Legolas raised his head and turned his gaze towards her, and Gimli followed the direction of the Elf's eyes with his own, the beginnings of a scowl upon his lips. Yet when he saw who approached the wariness faded, and he nodded to the Ranger and returned his attention to the quiet waters.

"What brings you here, my lady?" the Dwarf asked.

"I merely seek companions to share the wonder of this place, if I am welcome," she replied, and hesitated ere coming within the area of the stones.

"Welcome indeed," said Gimli, "if you may spare me some freedom from the folly of Elves who see little better to do than laze about doing naught."

"'Twas not I who sat at the water's edge and declared that all the riches in the world could not drive me to stir," said Legolas, and a glimmer of amusement played in his eyes.

Fuingwae chuckled and removing her boots sat beside Gimli and dangled her feet in the pool as well. "Ai, these waters are cold!"

"They have run through the snows of the mountains to reach this place," Gimli replied. "Surely you did not expect a forest puddle like this to suffice for a hot bath?"

Fuingwae made a face and mockingly kicked towards the Dwarf, sending a small wave of water in his direction. "I am not so hardy nor so foolhardy that I would freeze myself a-purpose, as you seem to."

Gimli feigned a scowl at the woman. "It assuredly was not I who forced you to sit and bathe your feet," he said, and Fuingwae hid a smile, for his words closely echoed Legolas' words to the Dwarf mere moments ago. Yet she did not hide her amusement fully, and when Gimli realized the cause of her smile he grumbled and kicked a second, larger wave towards her that threatened to splash over the stone where she sat. Fuingwae yelped and cast a handful of water at him in retaliation. Gimli paused and carefully ran his hand through his beard, and when crystalline droplets fell from the hairs shook his head. Then he kicked an even larger wave in return, and Fuingwae failed to evade the water and gasped in shock at the cold as she was drenched.

Legolas sighed as though resigned. "It seems that I am surrounded by children," he said.

Fuingwae and Gimli paused in their game and looked to each other at those words. Then Gimli grinned beneath his beard, and together the two reached into the pool and cast glittering arcs of silvery water at the Elf. Startled, Legolas rolled from the top of the stone to evade the attack and landed lightly on his feet. Yet neither woman nor Dwarf was prepared to let him escape so easily, and they pursued him laughing. Though Gimli had little chance of catching the fleet-footed Elf and Fuingwae little more, they continued gamely to try, often succeeding only in one dousing the other as Legolas remained safely dry.

A clear, sad voice drifted over the waters, and the three paused in their sport to listen. Sorrow and regret were in the words, though Gimli understood them not. Soon others joined the first voice, and the soft song floated through the twilight beneath the trees.

Gimli looked to Legolas, who now stood still and distant-eyed by the water's edge. "They sing for Gandalf, do they not? I do not hear his name, yet there is a quality to the song that reminds me of him."

"Yes. They sing of his deeds and his memory, and of the lessening of Middle-Earth with his loss. You would not hear his name, for we of the Eldar do not use his name among men when we name him. We call him Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, for he was ever cloaked in grey and never settled in any place for long."

"He had many names," said Fuingwae. "At times I wonder if perhaps he felt that he was not one being, but many. But he was ever fondest of being simply Gandalf."

Legolas nodded, as did Gimli. The Dwarf at last shook his head and returned his thoughts to the present. He looked thoughtfully at the Elf, who stood silent, his mind turned inward in the song or in memories of their friend.

Then Gimli grinned widely and shoved Legolas into the pool.

The Fellowship gathered for the evening meal, for above the trees the sky was beginning to change hue with the coming of sunset. Despite their raid upon the larder, Merry and Pippin pronounced themselves famished and happily attacked the meal laid before them as soon as they sat to eat. Frodo and Sam joined them, though Frodo seemed deep in thought and paid little heed to his meal. Aragorn wondered if he should be concerned, yet save for his slackened appetite the Hobbit seemed to be in good health, and Sam took it upon himself to nag his Master into eating 'proper-like.' Boromir sat to the side upon the twist of a root, drinking sparingly from a glass of wine and giving pointers as the younger Hobbits began an impromptu sparring match with their forks.

Approaching voices drew Aragorn's attention to the stream as the missing three at last returned. Yet when they came into sight, Aragorn found himself at a loss for words. At last, as the situation demanded some form of response, he looked to Legolas. "Tell me – what has happened to you?"

The Elf smiled wryly and wrung a stream of water from his hair. The effort availed him little, though, for he was soaked to the skin. "A Dwarf happened," he said in a droll tone. "And a Ranger. Ai, both alone are peril enough, without joining forces!"

Aragorn turned to see the other two, who stood dripping beside the stream, as drenched as the Elf. "It would seem that you achieved your revenge, however," he said.

Gimli crossed his arms across his chest and attempted to scowl, yet an amused smile played at the corners of his mouth. "And I shall be forced to set my mail aside to dry now. I shall hold you accountable for every speck of rust that should seek to form, Master Elf!"

"'Twas not I who sent you into the pool, Master Dwarf," Legolas replied lightly. "Though I confess to keeping you there."

Fuingwae smirked. "Indeed, 'twas I, as you well know, Gimli, for I do not take kindly to being splashed. Yet do not think to turn your wily ways on me, for you dragged me in after you! Perhaps now, though, you shall know better than to don armor when you mean to sit beside a pool."

"The bath seems to have done you well," Boromir said, lips pressed together to withhold a laugh. "The look of a drowned rodent does suit you, my lady."

Fuingwae smiled pleasantly and sat beside him, then tossed her head so that a heavy spray of water escaped her bedraggled locks and splashed against the startled man. Turning her head, she smiled at his startled and annoyed expression. "Petty insults beget petty revenge, Son of Gondor."

Sam cried out in dismay and shielded his dinner from the spray of water. "Miss!" he said. "I mean, begging your pardon, Miss Fuingwae, but couldn't you go and dry off before you eat? Why, it just isn't proper to go about dripping, if you take my meaning."

Gimli chuckled. "And we will, Master Gamgee, if certain young Hobbits will cease to perch atop our packs!"

"And what shall you do if we do not, Master Fish? Will you drip on us?" asked Pippin, folding his arms across his chest in imitation of the Dwarf.

"What terror!" said Merry, widening his eyes as though in fear. "We shall be dripped upon and melted like spun sugar candies!" The cousins began to laugh, and soon rolled off the contested packs, kicking their feet at their own hilarity.

"Fool of a Hobbit, the both of you," said Gimli, tromping to his pack.

When all had dried themselves and eaten, the Company settled in to rest. Yet Legolas did not remain, for as an Elf he needed little rest, and the beauty of the Golden Wood called to him with a siren voice. Aragorn watched him go, for the Ranger yet sat awake beside the spring, enwrapped in thought.

Aragorn wished briefly that he had stayed, for he dearly wished for a companion to share his thoughts with. It was not a wish that came to him strongly or often, for he was long accustomed to the self-enforced solitude he found in the wilderness. Yet even the strongest of men at times seek the firesides of others, to share company and bring once more to mind their place in the greater world.

Aragorn turned at the sound of quiet rustling, and saw a small figure sitting up in his bedroll, searching through the pack beside him. "Now where did I put that blasted…"

"Sam?" the Ranger called softly, surprised, for he had thought the Halfling would have been deep within the realm of sleep.

"Ah!" Samwise jumped in surprise. "Oh, Mr. Strider! Don't do that! Oh, begging your pardon, sir – it's just that I thought you were asleep, and you gave me quite a fright." He poked through his pack once more, then sighed. Ere Aragorn could ask him what it was the Hobbit searched for, however, Sam's expression seemed to brighten slightly, and rising he carefully made his way to the Ranger's side. "Begging your pardon, Strider, but you wouldn't happen to have any pipeweed with you?" he asked in a soft voice, glancing anxiously at the others as though looking for a sign of awakening.

Aragorn looked at him in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

Sam scuffed his feet and looked down. "Well… I wanted to have a pipe, just to help me think about things. But I seem to have misplaced my pipeweed at some point, though my pipe's right here at least."

Aragorn smiled slowly and nodded. "Well, I believe I have some that we might share," he answered, and reaching into his belt-pouch withdrew his own long-stemmed pipe and a pouch of leaf. "We should only have a little, though. Elves are not fond of the taste or scent of pipeweed, and though they humor our habit of it, it would be rude to fill the woods with it. Regardless, I have only this pouch, and we have a long journey ahead of us."

"Well, I suppose I understand that," said Sam, tapping the bowl of his pipe against his hand to make sure it was clean before he filled it with leaves. "Elves are more, well, like the wind, I suppose you might say. They seem to prefer the open air, certainly. But as for me, well, I just don't feel right without a smoke now and then. Reminds me of home, if you take my meaning."

"I understand your feelings," Aragorn said, lighting his pipe. He glanced at Sam as he passed the taper over. "It is said, at least in Bree, that no better judges of pipeweed can be found than the Hobbits of the Shire. So tell me, Master Gardener – what do you think of this leaf?"

Sam took a long, careful draw on his pipe, his brow furrowed lightly in concentration. "Well," he said at length, after several puffs, "it's certainly not Old Toby or Longbottom Leaf, but it is a good weed. It leaves a fresh taste in my mouth, so to speak; a bit like mint, come to think of it. Where does one find it? I know several farmers who should like to try their hand at mixing a crop or two with this."

Aragorn smiled slightly around his pipe. "It grows mainly in the lands slightly north of Bree, and the Breelanders are quite fond of it themselves, although few grow it."

Sam watched the delicate silvery stream of smoke curling from his pipe, still carefully tasting the texture and scent of it. "It's quite mild," he noted with some surprise. "I would have thought you would favor something a little stronger, begging your pardon for my presumption, Strider."

Aragorn surprised both of them with a soft laugh. "It is a reflection of my upbringing, I suppose, Master Gamgee. My early years were largely spent in the valley of Rivendell, and not until I began to wander the wilds did I encounter pipeweed. I must admit that at first I did not care greatly for it, but at length I came to be fond of the occasional pipe. Still, I have never acquired a taste for the more pungent smokes."

"You've lived in Rivendell?" asked Sam, his eyes wide. "That must have been something! I mean, living among Elves and all."

Aragorn thoughtfully blew a stream of smoke through his lips. "It was home, Samwise, though now I visit it little. My travels take me on many dangerous paths, and often I cannot return to the hidden valley for years at a time. Yet my heart still dwells there, as my dearest memories walk among the white birches of the greensward." He fell silent then for a time, ere he said, "This wood, too, bears dear memories, but a shadow lingers within them, and to think on them too deeply reminds me of much."

"What about your family, then?" Sam asked curiously. "Not to be nosy, Mr. Strider, but, well, I never really pictured you having a home."

Aragorn's smile grew sad. "The Dúnedain are all family to each other, for we seek out those who understand and do not fear us. But of direct kin? I have little. It is rare for a father to see his son grow to manhood among the Rangers, I fear. My own father perished by an Orc's arrow when I was a child barely two years old."

"But… That's terrible! Oh, begging your pardon, Strider – it's just that, well, I simply can't imagine living a life without my old Gaffer about."

Aragorn again felt a hint of laughter building within him. "I was not fatherless, Master Samwise – though the thought of calling Lord Elrond my 'Gaffer' is amusing. Yet even those who do not bear the direct lineage of the Kings do not go orphaned among the Dúnedain. Upon the death of the parents, a child is often taken in by others more fortunate, and they do not suffer for lack of family. Fuingwae is one such fosterling, though her family is odd by any standard. Though her lack of lineage sometimes troubles her, I do not think she would call herself without kin."

Sam took a draw on his pipe as he contemplated those words, then at length nodded. "We have a saying back home, in the Shire I mean. 'Friends are the family you choose,' I believe it goes. I never really thought about it before, but it seems to be getting more important these days, if you take my meaning." He carefully blew a smoke ring, although it wavered and disintegrated quickly.

"Indeed they are," said Aragorn with a smile, watching the blue-white circle dissipate. "Especially in these times, when one can never know if they will ever return to their home and kin."

"Oh, come now, don't say such things, Strider!" Sam cried. He then flinched, clapping a hand over his mouth as he looked furtively towards the sleeping company. Boromir stirred and an inarticulate sound came from his general direction, but he did not rise, instead turning over and burying his head further into his pillow. When he was sure that no others had been disturbed, Sam continued (though now in a much quieter tone, and with a rather nervous look on his face). "Why, if we go out there thinking we won't come back, well then, we won't! Pippin said it, Strider, though you would think he could take his own advice once in a while! 'If you go looking for trouble, it'll make itself for you!' or something to that effect anyway. We ought to be thinking about the things we'll be glad to see when we get back home."

Strider smiled. "Indeed? And tell me, Master Gamgee, if you care to – what do you wish to see again?"

Sam blushed and stammered. "Oh, well, my old Gaffer, of course, and my garden, and Bag End… but I suppose I shan't be seeing that, seeing as Mr. Frodo sold it. And the Green Dragon, and the Bywater, and, well," and here he blushed deeply, "and maybe young Rosie Cotton – she's Farmer Cotton's daughter, you know, and likes to help with the gardening – not that I ask her to, you understand, Strider, but she's just so insistent sometimes, and…"

Aragorn laughed. "I understand, Sam," he said, hiding his broad smile behind his pipe. "That is the gift of your folk, I think; to remind others that there is more to life than prophecy and darkness. Very well then! We shall go forward into darkness, but in the end pass through the shadows to find brighter things on the far side."

"Well said, Strider," Sam nodded. He puffed another smoke ring, more successfully this time.

Morning came, and with it the heavy stomping of Gimli as the Dwarf paced restlessly through the camp. His loud footfalls awakened the others of the Fellowship, though they were loathe to rise. At length Fuingwae made to do so, and her shout startled them all into alertness, for in the night the Dwarf, taking advantage of her rare deep sleep, had taken his own petty revenge for the dousing of his armor the day before and tied her long hair to two of Sam's smaller pot lids, which clattered noisily as she sat up. The rude awakening robbed the woman of words for a moment, and the Dwarf quickly retreated, laughing into his beard. She shouted something harsh in the Dwarvish tongue and pursued, the lids clanking as she ran and Sam close behind, demanding the immediate return of his cooking gear.

Boromir groaned and, lightly holding the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, shook his head as he sat up, for he did not desire the others to see his amused smile. When he was assured that his features were once more under control he looked up to find that his discretion was unnecessary. Merry and Pippin were both struggling to contain laughter and did not dare to look at each other for fear that the sight of the other's efforts would set them both off, and Frodo was staring in bemusement after the clattering trio. Only Aragorn met the Man's eye, and the Ranger simply smiled and shrugged in response to the antics of the Company.

As a grunt of surprise, a crash and Fuingwae's merry call of, "Many thanks, Legolas!" from the trees signaled the return of the Elf and the end of the chase, Boromir climbed to his feet.

"One would not expect a Ranger to emulate Halflings," he commented, joining Aragorn at the repast the Elves had left for them. "Much less a Dwarf or an Elf!"

"It's flattery, Boromir, flattery!" Pippin declared as he sat beside the Man and reached for the bread.

Merry grabbed his hand. "Pippin!" he groaned in annoyance. "Stop that! What has become of your manners?"

With his free hand, Pippin picked up an apple and happily bit into it with a crunch. "There are times when hunger must come before manners," he declared in a solemn tone. Yet in the next moment he and Merry were happily squabbling over the choice bits of breakfast, thoughts of decorum laid aside on behalf of fun. In the midst of their wrestling, they did not even notice as Frodo quietly commandeered the piece in contention and munched it down with a sly smile.

The other four soon rejoined them, Sam greatly put out and lecturing Fuingwae and Gimli at great length over the proper respect due to cookware, and Legolas came behind them. When the Elf sat, he wryly rubbed his shin, where he had coincidentally tripped Gimli during the Dwarf's escape. The Dwarf deigned to ignore the Elf in retaliation. Instead, he chose to mock Fuingwae lightly for leaving the pot lids tied to her hair when she had given chase.

Boromir smiled and returned his attention to the food, for he feared that unless he availed himself of it quickly, the provender would quickly vanish down into the bottomless chasms of the Halflings' stomachs. Small though they were, the Hobbits eagerly consumed massive amounts of food at every opportunity. In a short time, the breakfast was gone, and once again the Company separated to their own matters for the day.

Boromir remained at their pavilion, for he did not entirely trust the beauty of this place, and the warnings of his youth yet shadowed his thoughts. He stood balanced between two instincts; one urged him to leave quickly, reminding him of the dangers spoken of in whispers in the streets of Minas Tirith. Yet he had come through many perils with the Company and trusted their judgment, and they seemed at ease here.

Shaking his head to clear it of wandering thoughts, Boromir drew his sword and studied the edge closely. The battle in the Mines had left notches in the blade, and the edge itself had dulled from use. Boromir reached for a whetstone. Perhaps this was not the perilous place he had believed it to be, but still he saw no reason to allow his weapon to remain damaged, for a time would undoubtedly soon come when it would be needed.

A stir on the other side of the pavilion caught his attention, and he looked up to see Fuingwae hesitating at the edge of the camp, a small pouch in her hand. Seeing that he was alone, the woman dropped the pouch onto Sam's pack and turned to leave without a word.

"A moment, Fuingwae," he said. "We have unfinished matters between us."

Fuingwae looked warily at him. "This is no place for a quarrel," she said warningly.

Boromir raised his brow sardonically. "Then perhaps we may have a chance to explain ourselves peacefully, rather than resorting to blows in the manner of children. I assure you, I am not intentionally seeking a second bruise."

The Ranger flushed and grimaced at the reminder of her actions in their earlier argument. "Did you intend to say anything, or are you simply seeking to scold me?"

Boromir set aside sword and whetstone. "The king of prophecy is a figure of legend and little else in the land of Gondor," he said. "How can one man hope to achieve such a destiny?"

Fuingwae raised her chin, a challenging look in her eyes. "Lord Aragorn does not stand alone."

Boromir shook his head, though not in negation. "Perhaps he does not… but a band of landless wanderers does not a kingship make. You have made the support of you and your kind very clear, Lady Fuingwae, but is that enough to return the standard of the White Tree to the towers of Minas Tirith?"

Fuingwae cast her hands upwards in a gesture of frustration. "What more do you _wish_?" she asked. "A King in exile does not have armies – only the strength of his hand and mind, and the loyalty of those sworn to him."

Boromir looked down, and again picked up his weapon and resumed sharpening it, seeking the words he needed as he did so. At length, he spoke again. "Nigh on a thousand years have passed since Mardil became the first Ruling Steward after the death of Eärnur. Since that time, my family has ruled well and though the glory of Gondor has faded, its pride and dignity have not been forgotten. The blood of Númenor remains in the veins of my people.

"I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek only the meaning of a pressing riddle. Though the sword of Elendil would indeed be a great boon, the return of the king is now only legend, a myth told by mothers to comfort children. We of Gondor long ago ceased to wait for him."

"Did you? Or did you instead simply tell yourself that he would not come, fearing that it would be so, until you came to believe your own words?"

Boromir shook his head, but did not reply. Instead, he said, "I understand your loyalty to Aragorn, however. Though I did not know what to expect of him when we set out, he has proven himself both strong and wise. He rose to the challenge of guiding our Company after the loss of Mithrandir without hesitation, and has guided us well since."

A dark expression twisted the woman's face, and she looked away sharply. "A pity that it took the death of Gandalf for you to recognize Lord Aragorn's strength."

Boromir flinched slightly, but did not deny her words, for though harsh, they bore the pain of truth in them. Instead, he said, "Consider where I stand, Lady. I came seeking knowledge, and found instead a legend in flesh and blood, in the form of a stranger of whom I knew little, if anything. How would you react to such a circumstance, if our places were reversed? Would you be so eager to accept an unknown lord come to claim the rule of your home?"

Fuingwae began to reply, then paused, and a look of shame crossed her face. "I… had not considered that," she admitted. "For myself, I have known of Lord Aragorn's lineage and destiny all of my life, and I have no doubts in him. He has nearly twice my years behind him, and they are years of hardships and trials. Such a life can only create a strong man, if it does not destroy him in the process." The shamed expression faded into one of wry self-deprecation. "And now indeed I feel like a fool, for having grown up with the knowledge of his destiny, I assumed that all others should be as aware of it as I." A glint of humor playing in her eyes, she added, "Therefore, I apologize for striking you, those several weeks ago. My reaction was hasty and out of misguided anger."

Boromir chuckled. "At least this time we were able to settle our argument without resorting to less… politic forms of quarrelling, which is something of a relief. You have a strong arm and very hard knuckles."

Fuingwae smiled wickedly and flexed her hands, causing the knuckles to make cracking sounds. "A lesson that I perhaps should not have learned," she admitted without shame. "Yet in my experience, few men are willing to listen to a reasonable argument without a bit of force backing it first."

"Well, I say!" Sam shouted from the edge of the camp, standing with fists planted on hips. "Haven't you two bickered enough already?"

Fuingwae blinked at the Halfling, startled by his sudden appearance. "And what are you doing here, Master Gamgee?" Boromir asked, laughter in his voice.

Sam stomped authoritatively forward. "I came back to check my cooking gear, and a good thing I did, too! Why, if I hadn't shown up there's no knowing what trouble you two would get into. You'd start whaling at each other with my skillet as a stick, no doubt! Worse than cats and dogs, you two are!"

Now Boromir did laugh. "You need not scold us, Master Gamgee. We have settled our argument properly in the manner of civilized folk, for once, and I do not think it will trouble us again." He glanced at Fuingwae. "Will it, Fuingwae?"

Fuingwae feigned deep thought as she again picked up the small pouch she had left with Sam's gear. "I think it will not," she said at last. "And I have another apology to make ere I leave. For you, good Samwise, I have brought a peace offering of sorts." She offered the pouch to the Halfling, who took it, although he did not allow his stern expression to slip.

"Inside are _elanor_ seeds – the sunstar flowers you were admiring so as we entered Lórien. Consider them an apology for my dashing off and endangering your pot lids by leaving them tied in my hair when I sought revenge on a certain Dwarf." She smiled winsomely at him. "I have not lived this long by angering the cook of my company and failing to compensate _before_ my next meal."

Sam became flustered. "Oh, come now, Missy – I wouldn't do anything like that! At least… I don't think I would…"

Fuingwae chuckled. "Perhaps you would not – but I would rather cover my trail than learn otherwise." She smiled and bowed slightly towards him. "And now, if you will forgive me, I must go."

Boromir nodded. "Thank you for allowing me to explain myself – without starting a fight this time."

Fuingwae made a face at him, then turned and with a wave, disappeared into the forest again.

Sam tilted his head to the side, a thoughtful look on his face. "Gimli hasn't apologized yet…"

The stars illuminated the golden eaves of the trees, deepening the ever-present twilight of Lothlórien. Faint lights glimmered in the canopy as though all the fireflies of the world had come to rest upon the great boughs of the _mallorn_ trees, and the shimmering light was accompanied by the songs of wood and water and wind. In places the music of voice and harp softly accented the voice of the night. Though beyond the eaves of the Golden Wood the Shadow's sway grew and strengthened, within the forest night was yet the time of peace and rest.

Within the woven branches forming a wall of wooden lattice, a lone harper played his instrument, summoning images of ancient times into the still air from the minds of his listeners. Though he had heard only little of the times which this harper evoked through his music, Gimli found his mind and heart entranced. The Dwarf sat in silence upon the smooth wood of the floor and surrendered his thoughts to the spell of the music, heedless of all around him.

Legolas glanced aside to hide the amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. Though it had taken all of his skills of persuasion to draw the Dwarf away from the ground and into the trees, he felt the effort had not been in vain. Gimli had grumbled like a building storm throughout the climb, yet now his silence was even deeper and more profound than that of the Elves surrounding them. Fuingwae, who had accompanied them, also stood in silence, her head lowered and her hair overshadowing her eyes as she wandered through thoughts of her own.

Yet as he watched, the Ranger shifted as though in discomfort, then suddenly turned and disappeared through the entrance into the shadowy dusk beyond. Curious, Legolas rose and followed her, for before she had shown every sign of enjoyment in the harper's work. When he emerged into the cool twilight, he saw Fuingwae lingering at the head of the stairs leading down the silvery trunk of the great _mallorn_ on which they stood.

"Fuingwae?" he called, softly, so as not to disturb those who yet listened to the song of the harper. The Ranger started in surprise, for apparently she had not heard his approach. "What troubles you?" he continued.

"This place is strange," she replied, in a distant voice. "The light, the wind in the trees – each is transient, and yet each has an air of eternity, of something that has always been and shall always be."

"You are avoiding the question," he said, drawing farther from the light and soft music of the _talan_ and deeper into the blue twilight.

Fuingwae sighed and turned away from the view, refocusing her eyes on the living wood that formed a railing around the walkway. "Perhaps I am," she admitted. "And perhaps not. In this place, time has no meaning, and mortality has no place. Yet, I am mortal."

"As are all humans," said Legolas. Fuingwae's tone troubled him, though he did not know why. "As are the Halflings, and Dwarves."

At these words, a wry smile pulled at Fuingwae's lips. "True. Sadly, though, I lack the resilience of stone that Gimli so adeptly displays."

"What do you mean?" the Elf asked.

The hint of a wry smile faded and Fuingwae tilted her head to the side. "I do not belong here," she said with a directness that startled. "This place is a harmony, and I – and the others – are discordant notes. Did you not notice it? We unsettle your kinsfolk – Gimli, and I, and the others. We unsettle them, and in many ways they unsettle us. We are two kindreds separated by the banks of the river of time." Her smile returned. "Though in many ways unsettlement is a boon in disguise, neither is it comfortable for either side. I left because I have caused – and felt – enough discomfort for one eve."

She turned and began to descend the stairs, and though he hesitated for a moment at the top, Legolas did not follow her. Instead, he returned to the _talan_ , and looked again at the small gathering within the walls of woven branches. Gimli remained, a stubborn rock firmly planted on the floor, heedless of the eddies of light surrounding it. And in return those eddies never strayed too close nor incorporated that stubborn stone into their flow. Instead, they moved around it in an unspoken and uneasy truce.

Shaking his head, Legolas smiled faintly. Then he determinedly walked inside and sat beside the silent Dwarf. To his surprise, he caught a hint of a smile peeking out of the fiercely bristling beard before the Dwarf gruffly returned his attention to the music once again.

_AN: (Narisa---Yeah, we finished. Despite how long it took, it was still a lot of fun. Point of clarification, I don't hate Boromir nor do I mean to pick on him in any way. Simply put, Boromir and Funingwae have similar personalities, just with some conflicting ideas. Boromir is a warrior, a soldier and has been most of his life. I do not believe that he would be used to dealing with women as being extremely important. And I also believe that there would be someone in the Fellowship who would have some anti-feminist feelings. There fore, Boromir is the most likely candidate for this in my mind. So, please don't think that I view him as a male chauvinistic pig or anything like that. Thanks for reading and please review. Yeah Two Tower! )_

  



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